The 174th Hunger Games: Pandora
by Amberleaf Lemonquill
Summary: Bio-luminescent plants, floating mountains and mutts no one could have seen coming. . .As the 100th Anniversary of the Star-crossed Lovers' Hunger Games approaches, the genius of a man in love will create the most terrible paradise. Hold on tight, because Pandora is about to be unleashed... *SYOT CLOSED*
1. Prologue

**_A/N:_****Hey everyone, Lemonquill here. First chapter of my first story is up! :D Soo exciting!  
Firstly, I do not own the Hunger Games. The rights to the Hunger Games trilogy and any characters appearing in those books are owned by Suzanne Collins, and, frankly, she deserves them for writing an amazing story.  
Secondly, my Beta/Co-writer/friend helping me write this is MidnightRaven323. If you haven't already, go check out her profile! She has written some really amazing stories and she's starting up some amazing new ones now.  
Finally - let the 174th Hunger Games begin...**

_**Heyy,this is Midnight here,not Lemonquill :) You can tell us apart by our font in the A/Ns starting from...now.**_

_**174th Hunger Games: Pandora**_

_**Chapter One**_

The 174th Hunger Games are dawning.

Lysander Belacqua leaned back in his swivelling office chair. Beads of sweat washed over his pale forehead adorned with a straight, dark hairstyle somewhat vacant of the variable shades of blue that were the norm right now in the ever-changing current of Capitol fashion. His tailored black and bright blue suit was crumpled after days of wear. His glowing neon blue eyes – a product of a luminescent serum he had invented a few months back that could be used as a pigment in living things –were darting around, the eyes of a panicked young animal. Lysander had locked himself in his office when he heard the news. Turned all his computers off and unplugged them, and the landline, too – he even flushed his new mobile phone inlaid with sapphires down the lavatory. Shaking, he had set the hexagonal glass panels of the windows to opaque, and he sat at his desk, shaking.

That was sixteen hours ago. He hadn't moved in five.

He had received a letter from the President three days ago, in fluid dark green ink, containing the flowing signature that chief executives dreamed of. It innocently implied that, should he wish, he might be offered a place in the Gamemaking team's Arena Division, or possibly Muttations Division. Indeed, she had noticed his work at the University - Dean Globe held him in very high esteem – and thought he deserved a chance to work in the Hunger Games; since he had obviously worked so hard towards gaining a place in the Gamemaking team. She wanted him to reply by the month prior to the Reapings, and looked forward to working with him.

Or, as his contacts perceived it:

She wanted him on the Gamemaking team this year, whatever the cost. She was closely watching his studies at the University – possibly she had gotten the information off the oblivious Dean Globe – and was going to _make_ him work on the Gamemaking team he feared so much. She was going to kidnap him right in the heart of the Capitol if he didn't come forward by the 1st of May.

And the time was 11:55pm, on the night of the 30th of April.

Once his contacts had received a copy of the letter, they simply gave him the 'translation', as they called it, and cut all ties with him. The closest one to him, known as Shades, since he wore plain black lenses even on the darkest night, was sent to meet him on the second day after the letter.

"The boss is afraid of you," he said bluntly, adjusting his low-rimmed bowler hat. "He reckons you're too weak, and would give away information if we kept in touch with you."

"That's ridiculous," sputtered Lysander, although a tiny voice in the back of his head told him he sounded reminiscent of a small handbag dog.

"That's the truth, son," Shades stated, leaning back in his chair. "You've been contacted by the enemy, and we can't guarantee your safety anymore. And if we kept trying to help you, we'd probably get discovered. So, our only option is to stop all contact." He brushed some dust off his long trench coat, as if he had simply made a comment on the weather. Lysander looked at his shoes. This man, this person who could probably reduce a concrete block to cinders, seemed to think that the all-powerful rebels he had put so much trust into, who promised over and over that they could protect him with fake identification or hack into government files about him should the authorities came knocking on his door, were so vulnerable to a simple letter written in dark green ink.

Lysander checked his watch – black and midnight blue atomic time – and let out a whimper. 11:57, twenty seconds past. He glanced at a faintly glowing neon pink orchid, potted on his desk. He was going to give it to his girlfriend, before that letter came.

Astrid Fuchsia was her name. They met at the University. He worked on muttation creation and fine-tuning. She was studying arena micro-climates and forestation. One look at those platinum blond curls, the deep pink lipstick and curling eyebrow tattoos, and he knew he was a goner. It took three weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her, and another four to ask her on a date. It turned out she had been doing the exact same thing. In fact, they both asked each other out at exactly the same time, tripping over each other's words. Everyone else agreed they were made for each other. The perfect couple.

As well as pretty, Astrid was ambitious and smart. She worked almost every hour of the day, trying to qualify for the Gamemaking team. She haggled the professors at the university for more, always wanting to know some irritating little detail, like how a seemingly random species of beetle reacted to synthetic plant type used in the arenas. When an exam was announced, she seemed to speed up everything she could to cram in extra revision time. The assigned Head Gamemakers never seemed to want her on the team, thinking she would be far too stressed and worrisome for an actual place in the Games. Lysander disagreed with them, ever sympathetic when Astrid announced people turning her down. He felt as if no one could truly see her as he did – a truly spirited woman striving for a job she had dreamed of her whole life. An unstoppable adversary. A talented hard worker. A Gamemaker.

Astrid saw her prince in an unfaltering light. When they met, she had admired him for his work. Now she worked with him, a helpful voice Lysander was grateful for. She was bold, too, and often had angry arguments on the phone when she or Lysander were given mediocre feedback from the university. That was her one fatal flaw. For Miss Fuchsia, failure wasn't an option. Success was the only thing she could have, by any means, for her and her prince.

Lysander looked at the small, glinting silver ring in the soil of the plant pot, inlaid with a rose-pink diamond and shining under the light of the flower. He was going to propose to her, before, well, that letter. He sighed. That letter just had to go and screw everything up.

He checked his watch again. 11:58, forty seconds past.

Those damn resistance people. Yes, he was against the games. Just a childhood prejudice, really. He used to have a brother – Baby Demetrius. For two days he had a brother, a tiny thing wrapped in a perfectly white embroidered cloth. He remembered his mother's joy at a second child, his father's jolly demeanour and glow in his cheeks as he looked at his sons. The baby never cried once, a wisp of joy with strands of baby-soft hair as black as coal dust, and one eye of blue, one eye of light brown like the crinkly leaves of autumn. His family had been preparing a room, a secluded sky-blue realm in their house were everything was cuddly and fluffy, with a cot of dark ocean hues in a small niche in the wall, and a pretty tinfoil mobile that Lysander had made himself with his fumbling five-year-old hands. The Belacquas were overjoyed for the new arrival, especially Lysander, who felt almost as if he had been invited to tag along with the Victors on a Victory Tour. Demetrius was perfect in every way. Except for the slight cough, the tiny thing that seemed to escape everyone's notice, or just make them laugh at the baby's adorable natures.

He died of pneumonia after just three days of life.

The young Lysander had screamed in anger and hatred for no one in particular. For the invisible people that had taken his brother away. The tragedy of death forced upon one so lost in the new fullness of life, the whole unfairness of it, the way the universe never seemed to care how much people shouted at it, begged for their baby back. The hollowness twisted and warped into a many-pointed thing, a creature that attacked just when you thought you had forgotten, just when you were at your most vulnerable, a cruel instrument of torture, an aggravating fact of life.

Sacrifices had to be made, but it didn't stop them from hurting like hell.

The Belacqua's grief, coincidentally, ended on the day of the 159th Hunger Games Interviews, the day when they decided to re-join the flow of normal life, to pick themselves off the ground and start again. The grief never felt like it would end, but it did. Then the most extraordinary coincidence in Panem occurred.

Lysander shook his head to keep the memories away. A lot of good the past could do him now. 11:59, twenty-five seconds past. His eyelids were drooping. The faint light of the flower was fuzzy, pulsing. His head fell and he let the release of sleep envelope him.

When he woke up, it was clear to him what he must do, the hazy dream fading fast. 4:29 in the morning, seven seconds past. A video phone was ringing on his computer. Taking a deep breath, he clicked Pick Up.

"Hello, Miss President," he said, his voice not shaking as he had thought it might.

"Have you made a decision yet, Mr Belacqua? My patience is fading as the light of day grows," sighed a cold, smooth voice.

"Yes, Miss President," His heart was pounding as he said the words he had dreaded his whole life until now.

"I volunteer as Gamemaker."

* * *

A History of the District Partners Decree

_Until the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Panem was only ever graced with one victor every Games. But, after the tragic train accident of District Twelve's star-crossed lovers, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, it was decreed by President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow that the Hunger Games were to annually produce two victors, if they each originated from the same district. This rule change brought many new attitudes to Panem. The government thought highly of the decree, as it promoted even more competition between the districts, further stemming a rising rebellion. The districts were overjoyed to have a much greater chance of their children returning, and, of course, the citizens of the Capitol were in for an even greater show…_

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, what do you think? Please leave a review if you want, I really value****_constructive_**** criticism (if you just want to hate on me you can leave), and without further ado, here's Midnight's Tribute Form :) (We might start up a sponsor shop depending on how it goes.) New chapter up soon!**

_**Okay, this will NOT be a First Come, First Serve story,but if you submit first, there will be a higher chance of being accepted. The more detailed, the better. And absolutely NO Mary-Sues or Gary-Stus, Lemonquill may accept them, but I will make them die a horrible death :D**_

_**Tribuet Form~ Send Via PM only, no Reviews.**_

_**Name:  
Age:  
Gender:  
District: (Careers from 1, 2, and 4 ONLY, unless you have some interesting reason in which case me and Lemonquill will consult)  
Backup District:**_

_**Apearance: (Describe their eyes, hair, features that stand out, heritage, scars/birthmarks etc)**_

_**Personality:  
History:  
Family/Friends: (Name, age, short description)  
Fears:**_

_**Volunteered or Reaped?:  
If Volunteered,why?:  
If Reaped,reaction?:  
Who says Goodbye? :**_

_**Opinion Of The Capitol?:  
Opinion Of The Hunger Games?:**_

_**Training Strategy:  
Strengths: (Limited to 4)  
Weaknesses: ( At least 2)  
Weapon Of Choice: (And give a reason why)  
What They Show The Gamemakers:  
Possible Training Score:**_

_**Romance?:  
Possible Death:  
Token:**_

_**Other: (Optional Reaping, Chariots, Interview outfits)**_

_**And last but not least, opinions on Lysander?**_


	2. Nero and Nadia: Capitol Interviewers

**Hey again! I hope you enjoy this chapter, MidnightRavena and I had a lot of fun writing it :)**

**_We're still waiting for tributes people! Personally, I'm disappointed by the lack of feed back :( Oh well. _**

**_Read on. . ._**

**_The 174th Hunger Games: Pandora_**

**_Chapter 2_**

Lysander Belacqua smoothed out the crinkles in his trademark black and neon blue suit, made especially for this interview by his personal stylist. Gamemakers sure lived in style.

He walked out into the shining interview set. Pulsing orange and purple lights lit up the studio on the dark night. He looked out into the crowd and grinned, even though he couldn't really see their faces. Strange, how he knew everyone could see the miniscule details on his face and he couldn't see theirs.

Sitting on two circular, white-leather chairs – a breath of fresh air from the bright colours - were two figures smiling broadly and waving at the gathered crowd that awaited his arrival.

On one of the chairs was a rather pretty woman with sea-foam green hair that cascaded down her back. The only seeming alteration on lightly-tanned skin was the red stripe that ran from her left cheek that ran across the bridge of her nose and onto the other cheek. Wearing a sleeveless white dress that fell in ruffles down to the floor, Nadia Valentina waved cheerfully at the crowd, her wide eyes framed by incredibly long lashes twinkled in the lights.

Nadia tottered up on her strappy heels to a beaming Lysander and kissed him on both cheeks like she was greeting an old friend. She was so accepting and welcoming to others, acting like she knew you, when, really, you had only just met. Lysander guessed this came from being a former Escort, before she got into the interview business.

She led him down to the posh,circular cloud-white chairs, where Nero Vale was waiting.

Unlike his cheerful partner, Nero was confident, and borderline cocky. Sharp eyes of a mixture of all shades of blue peered calculatingly behind silver hair styled in a tastefully messy way. Tribal-style tattoos of silver decorate his skin that was a few shades darker than Nadia's, while a diamond stud occupied his right ear, with a matching piercing in his right brow. Wearing a white designer suit with a black under shirt and blue tie, Nero's outfit complimented that of his fellow interviewer. He rose and grasped Lysander's pale hand with his muscly tanned ones, making Lysander look skinnier than he really was.

"So, Lysander Belacqua," said Nero in a playful but deep voice. "Tell me about yourself. Ask someone about you yesterday, and they wouldn't know a thing. But now you seem to be the talk of the Capitol." He smiled. "How exactly did you get your place in the Gamemakers?" Nadia mirrored his smile.

"Well, I did, um, only join the team last morning," Lysander leaned back in the chair. "The professors at the university recommended me this year."

"Oh?" Nadia smiled, perching herself back on her chair. "You must be very smart to be recommended, that's always a good trait to see in our Gamemakers, wouldn't you agree, Nero?"

"Definitely," answered Nero.

Lysander smiled shyly. No one had really ever showcased his work before, and Nero and Nadia didn't even know anything about his work.

"So, word is you've been tasked with designing this year's arena. Some even say that the President herself asked for you," Nadia grinned. "Can you tell us some of your plans for the arena?"

"Technically I'm not supposed to tell you." He looked out into the crowd. "But I'm guessing that's not the reason you all showed up, is it?"

The crowd laughed and cheered.

"I'm thinking something special for Katniss and Peeta. It's been a hundred years since the best and most tragic Hunger Games of the age, and we should do something special for them this year."

The crowd was silent in awe.

"Somewhere beautiful where they could be proud to spend their last days. We are making a paradise for the fiery lovers of District Twelve."

Sighs floated from the lips of the audience. Some were even crying.

"This year, this year we create the most beautiful," he smiled slyly "and tragic arena in the history of the Hunger Games!"

Lysander's voice rose to a shout at the end of the sentence. There was a moment of quiet awe, then the silence shattered like glass and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Nero and Nadia were clapping and smiling at Lysander. He leaned back in his chair, handing the attention back onto the interviewers.

"Oooohh" Nadia smirked uncharacteristically. "Nothing sadder, nor more interesting than a tragic love story." She sighed dreamily. "Speaking of which, do _you _have a love story?"

At this, Nero sent a semi-scolding look at Nadia. "A bit too early to ask that, don't you think?"

Nadia scoffed and pouted cutely. "We were both thinking it; I was just saying it how it is!"

Lysander smiled and blushed slightly. "Well, there is this one girl; I've worked with her at the university for three years."

"Of course, there's always a girl. . ." Nero muttered under his breath, earning him a slap upside the head from Nadia and laughter from the audience.

Lysander continued: "She's absolutely fantastic Gamemaker material, she studies so hard. But she's never been picked."

The audience and Nadia let out sympathetic sighs. Nero gave a sarcastic falsetto 'awww', earning him another slap from Nadia.

"Surely now you're in the team, you could ask the Head to add her? One more Gamemaker can't hurt, especially one who works so hard," suggested Nadia, full of sympathy

Lysander smiled. "Actually, I have."

Nadia and the audience drew in an apprehensive breath.

"Does she know?" asked Nadia in a pointlessly hushed voice, since the words were picked up by a miniscule microphone and transmitted across the continent.

"She's here tonight," breathed Lysander, trying to keep a childish smile from rising on his face.

Nadia asked for her name, which Lysander whispered to her. She walked to the front of the stage, her white heels tapping a strict rhythm on the floor.

"Do we have a Miss Astrid Fuchsia here tonight?"

A squeal emanated from the third row back, and a pretty blond-with-pink-highlights girl slowly stood up, shaking slightly in an attempt to control her obvious joy. Nadia walked down the stairs on the side of the stage, a spotlight illuminating her steps. She reached out a hand to Astrid, whispering to her not to be afraid, just enjoy the night. Astrid calmed down slightly, taking controlled strides up to the stage, where another white leather chair had been placed.

Nero crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Chin up, Lover Boy," he said to Lysander quietly with a smirk. As Astrid stepped up on the stage though, he sat up immediately with an awed expression on his face, staring at her deep pink sequined dress, her blond and pink curls piled on her head, her shy, ice blue eyes.

"Oh, I am so sorry," he said, walking over to Astrid. "I would not have mocked you if I had known how beautiful you are, Miss Fuchsia." He took her hand and planted a tender kiss on her soft skin.

"_Ahem." _Nadia shot him a disapproving look, jerking her head in Lysander's direction. He had his arms crossed and an irritated look on his face. Nero decided to sit down as Lysander took Astrid's hand a led her to a seat.

She didn't let go of his hand.

Nadia smoothed her hair and put a smile back on her face. "So, before that _pig_ Nero started trying to win you over -"

"_Pig_? Oh come _on_, Dia. You know you love me" Nero grinned.

"Don't you Dia me." Nadia tossed her hair back and continued. "As I was saying, how did you two first meet?" She leaned forward in her chair, not wanting to miss one word of the juiciest gossip in the Capitol.

Astrid and Lysander looked at each other, remembering. "Well. . . we met at the University," began Astrid in a cute, shy voice.

"I tried for ages to ask you out. You were totally avoiding me."

Lysander smirked. "I was not. You were the one avoiding me."

Astrid let out a giggle. "Anyway, the point is, after three weeks, he asked me out. We went to the ice skating rink."

"Oh, the one on Crystal Street?" exclaimed Nadia. "I go there every week in winter."

"But she still won't come with me when I ask her out," said Nero, giving a sad look to the audience. Nadia ignored him.

"We spent all night there, skating around," sighed Astrid.

"Falling over, more like," chuckled Lysander. "I didn't even know how to skate until she showed me, and I couldn't stay on my own feet for more than a minute."

Nadia and Nero laughed with the crowd.

"I didn't sleep a wink that night; I wanted to get back to the University so bad. Tomorrow refuses to come when you have something you are waiting for," breathed Astrid.

"And we've worked together at the university ever since," said Lysander with a smile. "I was surprised I got picked for Gamemaking though; you were definitely the hardworking one in this duo."

Astrid laughed. "You, with all the brains, the one who the professors were crazy over, doubted you would be picked?"

"I said I wouldn't work on the team if you couldn't too," said Lysander quietly. Instantly the room fell silent.

"So I'm on the team?" she said hopefully, her tattoos around her eyebrows rising to almost touch her hairline.

"Well," said Lysander with a smile, "on one condition."

He knelt down on one knee, and picked up a softly glowing baby-pink orchid with a silver ring embedded with pink diamonds in the centre of the flower.

"Astrid Fuchsia, will you accept my invitation to join the 174th Hunger Game's Gamemaking team," he paused. In that moment, you could hear a butterfly fluttering it's wings.

"…and do me the honour of becoming my wife"

* * *

As the interview was ending, under the thunderous applause a man with cocoa-powder coloured skin and green gem implants in his dark eyes turned to the other person in the box.

"Do you think they will enhance our games this year, Madame President?"

A lady, her face covered with a sequined feathered mask leaned back in her seat, casting shadows over her wavy caramel locks. She gave a smile, filled with wicked and deadly cunning.

"They will be . . . just what this years' Games calls for."

She stood up and walked out of the back of the box, leaving a breeze of sophisticated perfume behind her.

**Interviews are such fun to write.**

I will start writing the Reaping chapters as soon as I get two tributes from the same district. Tribute list's up and there are still a lot of holes in it. Keep sending in tributes!

_**Okay, 2nd chapter done! This was actually one of my faves, since I created Nadia and Nero and we sort of role-played for the interviews. The majority was written during. . . Social Studies? Science? Either one while we were at school :P**_

_**The Tribute List is**__**on Lemonquill's profile!**_

_**Last thing; Thoughts/Opinions on our Gamemaker Lysander and our two Interviewers Nadia and Nero?**_


	3. District 1 Reapings

**Hey!  
Third chapter took a while (sorry) but I still need D2 and D3 tributes for the next chapters. In other news, I have decided to vary the tributes' first chapters, so they could be a reaping ****_or _****a train ride****_ or_**** goodbyes.. If you have a specific preference just pm me :D**

_**Okay, here is the District 1 Reaping! These tributes were submitted by Flintlightning and Katsparkle13!**_

_**The 174th Hunger Games: Pandora**_

Dimity Boudica grasped the microphone and wet her lips, slightly nervous, very excited. She smoothed her deep red Tinkerbell-style hair, reflected in the sparkling light of her sleeveless gold frock, and looked down into the faces of District One, so different from the thin, scrawny children she once had to escort from District Eleven. Ugh. Disgusting little ghouls, no manners, gawping at the Capitol like eight-year-olds, and not even trying in the Games. A complete disappointment. Even their mentors were few and far between, and not one of them even tried to help, they just sat around clutching bottles of wine. Failures, even though they were victors. Dimity preferred District One way better.

The mayor and his family were welcoming, offering her warm hospitality in a place far from her home. This year's mentors, Scarlett and Julius, treated her like a true friend, and were always planning on how to get the Victor's crowns on their tributes. Scarlett Sinistra and Julius Horn were the Victors of the 171st and 170th Games: they had won in both won in a brutal showdown against the District Two tributes, and were required today to give their good luck to the Tributes. The tributes themselves were shining stars; funny, beautiful teens with determination and strength. There hadn't been an actual reaped tribute for at least ten years, they were so eager to compete. The crowd she observed today were dressed like the shining jewellery they manufactured, covered in gold, silver and bronze fabric with splashes of gemstone coloured dresses dotted around the crowd. The younger ones looked coolly up at the stage. They knew there was no chance of them being thrown into the Games. The older ones were eager, excitement in their eyes. A group of boys were grinning. Dimity found the tallest, buffest boy. She knew he was destined to be the alpha of this year's Career pack. Bubbly with excitement as a flute of pink champagne, she began.

"Welcome, District One, to the Reaping of the One Hundred and Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!" she trilled, flinging her free hand up in the air on the last word. The crowd beneath roared with applause. Here, she got _real_ appreciation.

"Before we pick our amazing tributes for this year, we must uphold the tradition of sorrow, in remembrance of the Dark Days' war, the Uprising." She walked in her gold sequined platform heels to her seat beside Scarlett Sinistra, while the obligatory tape of war remembrance played. Although the teens below had learned their whole lives of the crimes their forefathers committed against the Capitol, she saw most of the eyes in the square glaze over. Dimity understood. She found no fun at all in watching some dusty old tape; not when the most thrilling celebration of the year was approaching. After a while, the tape stopped and the Mayor stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Thank you, Ms Boudica, for opening the Reaping ceremony." Dimity smiled. The mayor turned back to the crowd in the square.

"As is customary, this year two tributes will be brought into the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. My wish for these young people is that…"

He continued, wishing luck to the volunteers waiting somewhere out there. Dimity stifled a yawn. What use were words of the Mayor, when weapons would soon be in their skilful hands? She leaned back in her chair. She caught Scarlett's eye – obviously she was as bored as herself. Then she looked towards the Mayor and smiled, brushing her black hair with a single blood red streak hair behind her ear. Showtime. Scarlett and Julius walked up to the microphone.

It was Julius who began first.

"Future tributes of District One, I am honoured to be your mentor in the One Hundred and Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games." Dimity could see the spark in his eye, and knew he was reliving his own Reaping. "I swear by the Mentor's Code to assist the Tributes of District One in any and every way," he finished, stepping back so Scarlett could firmly grasp the microphone.

"I also swear by the Mentor's Code to assist the Tributes this year." She gave the hopeful tributes a smirk. "Now, who's ready to win this thing?"

The crowd of teens roared, applauding and cheering. Scarlett was definitely good at presenting herself. She was even dressed in her normal black training clothes, but somehow she still managed to pull off looking sophisticated. And that, of course, rubbed off on Julius, in his plain black shirt. He was muscular and intimidating, so Scarlett's charisma lightened him, making him somewhat similar to an old combat trainer, ready to show everyone the best of his students. One of the three 'Sinister Sisters' she was deadly nonetheless.

Dimity click-clacked up to the hollow glass sphere holding the names of all the girls in the district. She lazily reached into the bowl and plucked out a name, while she searched the older girls' section with her purple Capitol eyes for the volunteer. Dimity was becoming something of an expert at spotting Career volunteers in a crowd. She spied a tanned, black haired girl in a short blue dress smiling to her friends. Dimity beamed. This girl would make an excellent Victor.

"Kath-"

"I volunteer!"

Dimity looked out into the crowd expectantly. Instead of the girl in the eighteen-year-olds section, a girl in a blouse and flowing green skirt stepped out from the fifteen-year-olds section. Wavy honey-coloured hair and dull green eyes like pine needles. She wasn't as pretty as the girl in blue, but she had a certain… Confidence about her. Like she knew what she was doing.

The girl in blue's distaste was obvious. She called out in a sugared voice.

"Willis? What are you doing?"

This made the girl in the blouse turn around.

"What do you think I'm doing? I have every right to volunteer, Sydna," she replied coolly. Sydna smirked.

"What, with some stupid training from home? Let _me_ volunteer instead, Chessie. You'd die before you even make it to the arena. " Sydna and her friends giggled. She didn't even see Chessie coming.

Chessie walked back to the eighteen year olds' section, fists clenched, like she was trying to control herself. She walked up to a hysterical Sydna, grabbed her wrist and her shoulder, and flipped her onto the ground. The mayor gasped. The parents around the square were muttering and shooting dirty looks at the girls. Sydna realised what had happened, but too late; Chessie had her pinned down.

"If you're so good, get out of this," said Chessie, in a voice she was struggling to keep calm. Only Chessie's eyes showed how angry she was.

Sydna struggled for a while, then punched Chessie in the cheek. Chessie jerked back, into the arms of a Peacekeeper. Another held Sydna.

"Go back to your family, Willis! Go back to your stupid little DIY training centre and leave this to the _real_ fighters," she screamed, not even noticing she was in the spotlight of Panem.

"_Ahem,"_ interrupted Dimity. She had seen enough, and, more importantly, had read the rules on volunteering. She also hated any woman acting like an animal.

"I believe that once a volunteer has been picked, he or she may _not _be challenged over the title of Tribute. Miss Chessie Willis has come forth. She is now the rightful tribute for District One."

Dimity motioned for Chessie to come forward. Chessie walked up onto the stage with complete control over herself. She knew she must not get this wrong. She had to be better than Sydna, and, show the audience that. Dimity saw this, and decided she liked Chessie, even though she wasn't the usual Career.

Dimity walked over to the second glass bowl. She plucked out a slip of spotless white paper, and read the name printed on it.

"Lucius—"

"I volunteer!"

A tall, well-built seventeen-year-old with blond hair styled into a short fohawk stepped out into the aisle – the boy whom Dimity had seen earlier laughing with his friends. Scarlett and Julius obviously knew him from the training centre, as they were beaming at him, not at all surprised. He was even wearing black, mimicking the uniform of his Mentors – although he was in a buttoned shirt and dress pants, not informal training gear. When he walked onto the stage, Julius took his hand and clapped him in the back. Scarlett nodded in his direction, as it was his brother who had won the Games alongside her. Dimity smiled and handed him the microphone.

"Royal Richmond," he proclaimed "but you can call me Roy."

"I'm going to win this for my parents. Gem, Jewel, thank you so much for training me all these years. Now I will make you proud!"

Roy shouted out into the square. Everyone cheered. District One was very enthusiastic about the Games. Dimity could see Royal's parents, Gem and Jewel Richmond. Gem was cheering for his son with the rest of the crowd and Jewel had tears running down her face. Dimity recognised them as the Victors from when she was a kid, in the 151st Games. Roy handed her back the mic.

"Will you two please shake hands," she spoke over the roar of the crowd. Roy took Chessie's hand, shaking it firmly. He smiled at her. It seemed heartfelt, not like other tributes fabricating romance or friendship to win the favour of the crowds – strange, because normally other trained kids avoided her. Chessie smiled and lifted her hand in his high in the air, a team for all to see. This year, the odds _were_ in their favor.

The polished marble handle turned and the door burst open. Lance and Kia both ran to the velvet couch Chessie was sitting on and jumped on her. Lance said nothing, just attempted to crack several of her ribs, while Kia, normally energetic and cheeky, had watery eyes. Chessie realised that they were afraid of being without her. Normally her family was always together, and now the prospect of her being away for weeks was making them anxious.

Her parents entered calmly, their faces only just showing concern, their breathing slow and deliberate. Chessie could see how worried they were, and how hard they tried to hide it. They had trained her so hard for the purpose of winning for the honour of their family name. Failure was not an option. A sudden fear overwhelmed her.

"What if I don't come back?" stated Chessie plainly. Kia burst into tears. Lance looked even more desperate and clung to Chessie tighter. Her mother turned white as a sheet, while her father looked ready to start smashing the china ornaments in a cabinet beside the couch. Instead he grabbed Chessie's shoulders, squeezing them so tight that she thought she would be bruised for weeks.

"Look at me, Chessie," he said, his voice on the verge of shouting. His arms were shaking. "You can do this. All the training we've done. All those hours practicing with knives, spears, swords, maces—"

"But how can I survive? In a place I know nothing about, with twenty two other people ready to kill me, ready to be killed? I can't. I should have let Sydna volunteer instead. At least One would have had Victors ." She broke off, sobbing. Her father looked away, releasing his grip on her. Her mother sat down on the couch, nudging Kia on to her lap. She took Chessie's chin in her soft warm hand.

"Chessie, your father is right. We trained you for years. Don't count it out. You can do this." Tears were threatening to spill over her eyes, although Chessie's mother kept a smile in her face. "You know how to climb, how to hunt, how to light a fire, how to gather roots and berries. You won't die, Chessie. Don't give up." Chessie clung to her mother, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume.

Her mother pressed a small topaz pendant on a silver chain into Chessie's hands. She knew it had been her grandmother's, given to her mother on the day she died, as she lay on her deathbed in their old house. Her mother kissed her forehead.

"Next time you see us, it will be at the Victory banquet," her mother said with a smile. The peacekeepers opened the door again, but Kia and Lance squeezed her tighter. Chessie kissed both their heads and stood up, ready to go into the Hunger Games.

**By the way, sorry for not including Royal as much as Chessie :( I promise he will have a longer chariot ride or something :)  
Also, thanks for the non-stereotypical Career girls Katsparkle13, they are really fun to write about. I still need sme D2 tributes for the next chapter.**  
_**Thank you all for the feed-back so far! More Tributes would be appreciated, but don't forget that if you submit one the other has to be a bloodbath!**_


	4. District 2 Reapings

**Hey!  
Back with the District Two reapings/goodbyes. The update was a little later (okay, maybe a lot) than I had hoped :/ Mainly because it was school holidays. :(  
Percy was submitted by Sorceress of the False and Crystal was submitted by K Drama Queen.  
**

_**Sorry for the late update!This was partially my fault, I edited this chapter later than planned!**_

_**The 174th Hunger Games: Pandora**_

"Anna—"

"I volunteer!"

Blade Stonewell searched through the crowd for the volunteer. She emerged from the sixteen-year-olds section: a girl with wavy chestnut hair flowing almost down to her waist and green eyes the colour of the new daffodil shoots in spring. She walked up to the stage confidently, her face like stone, a sort of brave smirk etched upon it. Andromeda Platinum grasped her shoulders with her white gloves, as if the girl was her particularly difficult child. The girl cringed slightly, not used to having a Capitol escort treat her like a disobedient daughter. Blade thought her saw an splotch of angry red on her neck, but the girl swept her hair over her shoulder, and Blade wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not…

"And your name is?" asked the Capitol escort, her silver lipstick flashing.

"Crystal Rynolds," she answered, her eyes fixed on the crowd. A hint of a smile played on her lips.

"Well, Crystal, let's find out about your district partner, hm?" said Andromeda in a voice as sweet as sugar. Honestly, all the capitol escorts were twerps with ridiculous accents and wigs.

Blade and his partner, Acalia, had already got a pretty good idea of the tributes for this year. Deadly kids, trained at the Center for years, able to find fifty different ways of killing off the outer districts. Even if there were no volunteers, they still had a fighting chance. Basic training was compulsory. The old Victor smirked.

Andromeda tottered over to the boys' reaping bowl. She daintily plucked out a slip and…

"Perseus Romulus Zermellious!"

Instead of a beefy eighteen-year-old stepping up to volunteer, whispers rippled through the crowd of teens; and it was obvious why. A short, black-haired boy stepped out from the sixteen-year-olds' section. Percy's skin was as pale as snow, and his outfit of a pristine white shirt and black dress pants made him look even more vampire-esque. His eyes were adorned with coloured contact lenses, which made his irises a vivid shade of fiery red, with flecks of orange and yellow, making it look like contained flames were raging behind his eyelids. He was slightly skinny, just enough for you to think he needed feeding up: which Andromeda obviously thought as she looked at him distastefully - although she herself was thin as a pin. He walked up to the stage, looking very afraid, until a burly silver-haired boy started to volunteer.

"I volun—"

"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE MY PLACE!"

Percy had spun around and shouted at the boy, his eyes literally flaming. The volunteer was at least a foot taller than him, yet the small teen had an eerie power, as if he was protected by other means than fists and weapons. Silver-Hair looked unsure – not a good move on national TV. Apparently, having Hunger Games training in District 2 didn't reach much further than weapons and survival skills. Some of his friends were muttering to him – a boy with brown eyes and a shaved head seemed to be convinced that this was some sort of trick to stop his friend competing; a pretty black-haired girl stared at the would-be volunteer with pity from across the square. The crowd murmured anxiously – they obviously had no clue about protocols for reaped tributes unwilling to be volunteered for. Even Andromeda teetered on her high heels, looking profoundly as if she needed to relieve herself. It was time for the mentors to step in.

Blade shot a look at Acalia. She nodded, a strange look in her eyes, like she was ready to test this strange new power housed in a skinny boy. Blade looked at Silver-Hair and raised his chin slightly. The boy cursed, furious. He couldn't volunteer when he was nineteen, but hey, trained Careers were abundant in District 2. Blade was sure that there was a seventeen-year old winner somewhere in the crowd.

He fixed his attention on Percy and Crystal. Crystal looked at the sixteen-year-old with a look of mild disgust – Careers weren't fond of unskilled tributes they had to drag behind, and Crystal looked every inch a Career: brutal, ruthless and unafraid to show it. She casually flipped her hair over her shoulder, then suddenly a look of panic ran across her face and she covered her bare neck with her hair again. Blade was almost certain he'd saw something there… A scar…

Percy, on the other hand, looked as if he had swallowed all his fear from before, and it was giving him indigestion. He was trying hard to hide it, with mixed results: he didn't quite look brave; more slightly queasy. All the traces of his outburst were gone from before, and he avoided looking back out into the crowd. Blade sensed that this was not out of anxiety, but barely controlled anger, which was disguised expertly. He couldn't see Percy's eyes, but he knew they were almost laughing. This one, he thought, is going to be a tricky one…

Crystal Rynolds gasped with relief the moment she was locked safely in the Justice Building room. She took deep breaths, sinking into the black leather couch, her eyes stinging. The brute girl she was playing for the cameras was every inch a fake. For a moment, she was engulfed in the immediate terror of being thrown into the Games, teens after her blood, Careers which would look upon her in an insultingly scrutinising way, eventually to accept her and then probably kill her while she slept. And even if she survived the chaotic breakup of the Careers, how could she possibly survive _on her own_ with no help, just other people like her ready to destroy if they caught sight of one another-

Then she remembered her dad.

As if on cue, Steve Rynolds opened the door and slumped into an armchair opposite Crystal, examining its intricate stitching. Crystal's siblings, Stephanie and Kyle, both in their mid-twenties, sat on the couch, either side of Crystal. Stephanie hugged her, dousing Crystal in the stench of expensive perfume and scratching her skin with the weirdly trendy plate mail top she wore on special occasions. Then Steph sat up straight and composed herself, ready to give Crystal her strategy speech which Crystal had heard her reciting in her bedroom in her spare time. Kyle almost hugged her, then restrained himself and just shook her hand firmly, the way Blade and Acalia had done to her earlier, in the courteous, restrained way Victors were supposed to behave.

Being Victors had turned her brother and sister into twits.

Steph started blabbering on in a slight Capitol accent about how to best impress the Career gang, and benefits of being in their alliance. Kyle occasionally cut in, giving her advice about which weapons she should pick, their advantages, their weaknesses. Crystal didn't really listen. When she looked at her siblings, she only saw some bizarre clones that had replaced her loving brother and sister after their Games'. Living in a Victor's Village house had only washed away all the friendship between them: replacing memories of smiling teen faces playing with a toddler Crystal, using some sticks for mock-fencing contest, with a cold reality of dinner-parties where Steph faffed around with silk dresses and jewelled necklaces without noticing Crystal had been omitted from the invitation; a world where her big brother disappeared to the senior boy's training every other afternoon without giving a thought to how Crystal was progressing. After a while, Steph awkwardly pecked Crystal on the cheek and left, probably going to laugh with her friends and discuss their predictions for the chariot ride. Kyle grasped Crystal's shoulder's and beamed at her, only seeing the Victor he was certain she would become. Crystal wasn't so sure.

Steve Rynolds stood up slowly, picking the dirt from beneath his fingernails, a slight expression of distaste on his face which made him look like a spoiled prince. Unlike Crystal's siblings, though, her father had been this way as long as she could remember. She had heard from some of her neighbours that Steve Rynolds had been one of those despicably low people to bet on tributes' outcomes in the Games. Her father had no place in his life for the burden of kids – so, when his wife had given him three , his solution was to train them, then make them volunteer as soon as they were supposedly ready, either winning riches and fame or removing another hungry mouth. And with two out of three already Victors, Crystal was expected to uphold the new family tradition.

Only she didn't want to. She had already watched many Games. While others cheered at the gory downfalls of outer district kids, she silently fumed at the Career pack. Why could no one else see them for what they were – brutal killers? When she was signed up for training at nine years old, she realised the only way not to get bullied into oblivion was to act tough, like the Careers in the Games. And the charade continued, all the way to sixteen years old, when her father told her to volunteer. That was when she couldn't keep up the act anymore.

"Dad, I can't! I'll die!" Crystal screamed. Steve just laughed.

"Crystal, honey, you've been training for seven years. You're by far the best in the academy. You'll win for sure," laughed Steve, seeming to think that twenty-two other tributes were a piece of cake.

"Dad, the other Careers will kill me in my sleep! And there's always an outer district pair that comes to try and do us in at the end! If you put me in there it's as good as a death sentence!" Crystal's eyes stung. Tears were threatening to spill over her eyelashes. She stared at her father, unblinking. Steve was starting to look angry. Crystal knew she was playing with fire here: her father had the temper of a hungry bulldog, one whose bark and bight were equally terrifying.

"Crystal, don't be stupid. Steph and Kyle both won. Who says you'll be any different?" growled her father, anger slowly seeping into his voice. He spat a little on the last word.

"Dad, I can't kill," said Crystal, spitting out the words so fast that they were barely recognisable. A twitch in Steve's eye showed that he has heard her though. He clenched his fists.

"Say that again, honey?" he said, his voice dangerously calm. His eyes were almost sparking with rage. Crystal took a deep breath.

"I can't kill other kids," she whispered.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck Steve Rynolds. He shouted obscenities at his daughter, who sunk inter her chair and flinched at every word. At an attempt to plug her fingers into her ears, Steve seized his daughter and shook her, while screaming about how she had disgraced her family and he had thought she was a runt from the start. When she started screaming, he slapped her with a beefy hand across the face. It felt as if he had smashed a burning rock into her cheek. She desperately tried to force his arms away from her, but he shoved her back into the chair, which she clung to, paralysed with fear. She covered her eyes with her arms.

An ice cold stinging sensation crawled across the back of her neck. She howled. She put her hand up to the pain, and felt the chill of polished steel. Her father had cut her with a knife from the training centre – the very one she had been practicing with in the backyard. She gasped and fell onto the floor. Steve held up the knife for her to see, stained with her own blood. Crystal felt as if she was going to puke.

"A token to remind you of me in the arena," he said, looking down at her furiously.

All of this passed through her mind in the Justice Building. Crystal's hand instinctively went to her neck, where the scar reminded her of that terrible night, one of many nights when she had cried herself to sleep. She hated her father more than anyone she had ever known – but fear kept her in check.

Steve Rynolds turned to leave the room. He looked back at his daughter for a second, steel grey eyes flashing.

"You'd better win," he growled, closing the door behind him.

The Peacekeepers shoved Percy into the Justice Building's stylish living room. They turned and shut the door behind him. One gave him a dirty look, as if saying "Don't even try it." As if he would dare try anything in here. District Two, where the tributes are trained to have perfect manners and take your coats. Well, he wasn't exactly up to standard here.

Percy slumped in the chair, slowly combing his longish curly black hair with his fingers, and wondered if anyone really liked him enough to visit before he died.

The first to visit was his family. His mother, Helena, squeezed him in a rib-crushing embrace. He tried to protest, but his face was full of Helena's long, copper coloured hair, so Percy just hugged her back instead. She broke away after what seemed like a full torturous minute, her heart-shaped face beaming at him, grey eyes warm with hope. _Weird time for that,_ thought Percy,_ seeing as I'm going to the Capitol to murder other innocent kids. Panem really is a wonderful place. _He decided to not shout his sarcastic thoughts aloud, though. If his mother wanted to be happy, who was he to deny happiness?

"My little Perseus, off to the Capitol," she whispered, smiling. "You'll come back a Victor, darling. You can win." She stroked his messy hair as she talked. Percy gave a faint smile.

Percy's father, a tall man named Jerome, sat down on the couch with him, squeezing his shoulders. He was smiling too, his green eyes shining.

"I have always known you would be a champion, son," he said, eyes slightly watery. "I know you won't disappoint me."

Percy sighed slightly, his mouth still stuck in a half-smile. His family were seriously besotted with the Games. Although Percy had been training since he was eight, he didn't really want to be in the Games. As bad as life in the hellhole known as Panem was, ending it wouldn't do anything to make the situation better. And who would care for the hidden dog and rabbits he was secretly caring for in his room?

His sisters, Juniper and Kelli sat on the couch beside him. Juniper, the youngest, cuddled up to her father like a toddler, even though she was almost 11 years old. Kelli, the pretty popular thirteen-year-old, was idly examining her nails. It was clear neither of them was showing much concern for Percy. They were certain he was to win. _Or maybe,_ said the dark little voice in Percy's head,_ they really just don't care about you._ Percy knew this wasn't true; even though they teased him for being "weird and depressed", they must have some sort of attachment to him.

"You know," said Kelli, "when you win, I might start telling people I'm actually related to you."

Helena and Jerome laughed, and Juniper let out a little giggle in amusement, but the dark voice in Percy's head was sniggering.

Juniper stood up and approached Percy warily.

"What is it?" he said in a tired voice. "I won't bite, Junie."

"Daddy wanted me to give you this," she said, dropping a small object into Percy's lap. He picked it up and examined it. It was a silver chain with a chunk of amber as a pendant.

"Hm," said Percy.

"It's from District Four," said Jerome. "To remind you of the sea. We remember how much you loved swimming there."

Percy had moved to District Two from Four when he was about thirteen, a fact he really despised, as the only reason was so he could have better training for the Games: which showed how much his family really loved the Games. Percy really missed the sea now – the warm days spent swimming in the shallows, the storms that turned the sea into a fearsome beast. District Two was disappointing in comparison – the roar of the waves was nowhere to be found, and the climate was considerably colder. He knew that the outer district's citizens certainly couldn't immigrate into other districts, but in the Career districts they were allowed some leverage. The paperwork was atrocious, though.

Percy's family had recently installed a swimming pool in their large estate, which he enjoyed swimming in. He was exceptionally good at it, and his mother was amazed at his enthusiasm. He was especially motivated by his morbid fear of drowning.

Staring at the chunk of hard orange tree sap, he still couldn't see the point in moving to District Two. And a swimming pool was crappy compensation.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll use this to strangle the other tributes," said Percy in a steely voice, shoving the necklace in his pocket. He could hear the roar of stormy waves pounding in his ears.

There was a very awkward silence for about twenty seconds.

Jerome gave an overly hearty "There's my boy," and got up to leave. Kelli was wearing the expression she used whenever Percy said something weird in front of her friends. Helena gave Percy a peck on the cheek and hurried out of the door, tugging Juniper out by the wrist, who was looking very surprised indeed.

Percy breathed in and out, taking in the silence of the now empty room.

The door opened quietly, the handle turning slowly as to make as little noise as possible. Percy spied a lock of curly purple hair, quickly followed by a pale, pretty face and neon green eyes.

"What did you say to your family just then?" asked Olivia Larson, her head hanging around the door.

"Something stupid," Percy sighed. "I got mad. My father gave me this stupid token to 'remind me of Four'. Screw remembering Four, why can't we just move back there?"

Percy's voice rose to a shout at the end of the sentence, but instead of getting mad he just put his head in his hands. Olivia looked pitifully at him.

"And as soon as I settle in to District Two, actually find people who care about me—" he glanced at Olivia with a small smile "—I get shipped off to the Hunger Games." Percy snorted.

Olivia stepped into the room, and walked daintily over to the couch where Percy sat. She had pale skin like Percy, and was short for her age too. Her diamond studded ears flashed behind her indigo curls.

"Perce, you're only gonna be in the Games for a while," she said, sitting down next to Percy and taking his hands. "I'll see you in a few weeks, that's all."

Percy grasped Olivia's small hands in his slender fingers. "I was going to propose to you, Liv," he said quietly, his voice sounding less sharp this time. "I was saving up for a ring to buy you on your next birthday."

Olivia laughed. Her laugh sounded like birdsong to Percy. "Stealing money to buy a ring, more like."

Percy pretended to look insulted. "I, stealing? I was simply practicing my technique of being sneaky and silent. I might need it, after all; I might get reaped!"

Olivia giggled, and Percy even chuckled slightly. Percy wasn't a serious thief – he had only ever stolen things like change lying around people's houses, practicing a skill he had discovered whilst training in District Four.

"Anyway," continued Olivia, "when you win, you won't need to _steal_—" she poked Percy's nose on this word "—any more money, not with all the Victor's winnings." She smiled.

"What do you mean, _when_ I win?" asked Percy.

"You're not exactly going to try and lose, are you?" said Olivia.

"No, but—"

"Then you will win, Perce," said Olivia, smiling. "You're the most determined person I know. You just don't have anything to be determined for. Until now."

She was right. Percy knew the instinct to live was too strong – even in a fractured world like Panem, there was a reason to go on, and his was Olivia. She hugged him, wrapping her skinny arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest. Percy realised she was crying.

"Hey, I'll come back, Liv," she said softly. Olivia looked up and smiled at him.

"No getting rid of you," she said, kissing the end of his nose.

Percy stroked her purple hair, tracing the strands from the auburn roots just starting to grow back in, to the ends of her long curls. She was the most precious thing in the world to him, far more than jewels or riches or a Victor's crown. She could make him smile, or laugh with joy even on days when he felt like screaming at the sky for being born into the torturous world they lived in. Because even when all he felt was death, Olivia Larson reminded him what it was like to be alive again. Without her, there was nothing.

The door opened, and a Peacekeeper stomped in.

"It's time," he said gruffly.

Olivia stood up, ready to leave.

"Wait!" said Percy. The Peacekeeper shot him a murderous look.

"Tell my family I'm sorry," said Percy. "I got angry, and that was stupid. I love them, and I shouldn't have forgotten that." Normally Percy was more stubborn and didn't apologise, but on the off chance that he never spoke to them…

"Ok," said Olivia with a smile.

"Love you, Liv," said Percy, kissing the top of her head.

"Love you, Percy," laughed Olivia. "See you soon, ok?" she said as she left the room.

Later, in the car driving them to the station, Blade observed the tributes. Percy had a slight glint in his eyes, like he was already planning out something. Crystal looked like she had been crying. Percy turned to observe Crystal as well.

"What are you looking at?" she said immediately, the skin around her eyes still red and slightly puffy.

"Nothing."

* * *

**Next chapter as soon as I get the D3 tributes!  
D4 chapter should be following on shortly after: I already have the D4 characters and I have begun writing :)**


	5. District 3 Train Ride

**A/N Hi guys, back with another chapter :D  
I'm really sorry I didn't update earlier, I had real trouble getting the tributes.  
Tandy O'Brien was submitted by The Mockingjay Lives and Pixel Rhett was submitted by katsparkle13.**

_**Personally, I actually found these tributes interesting:) Enjoy~**_

Pixel was blown away the moment she stepped onto the train.

The Capitol had furnished the train elegantly, yet it had small hints that this was the train of District Three – Capitolites couldn't resist a theme. In the entrance car – they had a whole carriage of the train just for first impressions! – three Capitol attendants waited, bowing their heads slightly in respect. Pix waved shyly. The wallpaper on the compartment was a swirly teal colour with small silver leaf patterns; but on closer inspection Pixel saw the leaves were actually made of even smaller circuit board patterns, miniscule in detail. This applied to everything – stitching on the booth seats in the lounge car, bedspread in her bedroom car, even the seemingly blank corridors leading to the kitchens and the driver's room. Pixel could imagine the different district's trains: the rainbow of gems for District One, the wavy, sandy patterns for District Four, the forests, each one smaller than a fingertip for District Seven . . .

"Pixel, honey?" drawled Memory Corset, her escort, chewing on a wad of bright blue gum the exact shade of her beehive hairstyle that was almost touching the ceiling. Memory was a strange kind of Capitolian, Pixel thought – she didn't have the signature chirpiness of the typical escort, but seemed more of a lazy and laid back, like some sort of hired child-minder whose parents had forced her on the job. She was also lacking the normal Capitol accent – she spoke in a bored sort of voice, but her voice hissed on the 'S's like other Capitolites. She was skinny and pale, and of average height, and had been doing the escorting for a fair few years now, considering most escorts worked on and off only in their thirties. Her dress, gloves and knee high boots were the same bubblegum blue as her hair, a tone which made Pix feel as if she was staring into a bright light. Her eyes were quite beady, like a suspicious parent: Tandy, Pix's district partner, reached out to touch the wallpaper and she slapped his hand away. She smiled an obviously fake smile at Pix, which made her face hurt from just looking.

"Fine, thanks," said Pix timidly, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Ya bedroom's up the corridor, honey. Tandy, third on the left. Pixel, fourth." Memory waved them away. "Now go cause some mischief someplace where it's not ma problem."

She strode through to the lounge and plopped herself down on one of the seats, pulling out a small bejewelled mirror to check her hair. Pixel watched her from the door. She was pulling out all sorts of weird brushes to perfect her already (in Pix's opinion) disastrously ridiculous hairstyle – what looked like a rake the size of a toothpick, a miniature comb, a lipstick-sized portable curler, a weird device that resembled a sandwich press and a tiny fork. Memory poked, prodded, squished and tugged at her beehive 'do, teasing out certain locks of hair so that they stuck out or puffed up, and skewering other unfortunate curly segments with the fork-like instrument. When she was certain that it was looking at its best, she pulled out a pink phone and lazily pressed buttons. She put it up to her ear.

"Hey, Literacy," she drawled, chewing her gum with her mouth open, exposing her blinging white teeth. Pix knew the name well – Literacy Frew was her mentor, a celebrity of District Three. After her victory, she became a teacher. All the kids loved having her as a teacher, but Pix had never actually met her. She was looking forward to it.

Memory kept talking into the phone.

"Listen—yeah—yes, I know—Lit, just get to the train. Geez, stop talking technical, it's rotting my brain. . ."

There was an awkward silence as Literacy kept 'talking technical'. Pixel had thought Capitolites were given great education. She now reconsidered that thought.

Memory continued.

"Lit—yeah, that's great, hon—can-you-just-get-to-the-train-in-five-minutes? "

She was speaking as if Literacy was hard of hearing. Memory's voice rose to a shriek at the end of her sentence. Then she just hung up with a sigh and trotted away into her bedroom.

Pix decided she didn't really like Memory Corset.

Tandy was also amazed by the train. It was as if he had stepped into another world. The hallways shone, but he wasn't allowed to touch them, like they were some forbidden treasure. He almost didn't hear Memory telling him where his room was, but it didn't matter. Tan wanted to explore every room on the train. He walked down the bedroom-and-bathrooms section of the train when he left the lounge. These corridors were in the same style as the first, but with golden leaves on a rosy red-pink background. He forgot Memory's warning, and brushed his thin fingers against the dry paper. The detail was so fine, surely no machine could have made this; but it must have been, because it would have taken months, years maybe to do by hand; each square centimetre could have been a framed piece of art, it looked as if the infinitesimal detail was painted with a single hair. . . Some of the kids at school might have teased Tan for having an interest in something so ridiculously feminine, but he didn't care – he was going to the Capitol, and as evil as it was, evil things in Panem were dressed in silk and diamonds, and he wanted to see as many beautiful things as he could before he went into the arena.

He wandered into the bathroom, making sure he went into the men's (that incident had happened way too many times in public for Tan) and felt the wind get knocked out of him at the sight again. Tandy heard a faint sigh issue from his lips. The bathroom looked far too detailed and decorative to be on a _train._

The whole thing could crash at any moment: although, this being the Hunger Games, he doubted that would happen. The sink was made of polished granite, carved with small squares, in a swirling hypnotic pattern. The taps were shaped themselves like sprays of water, fashioned out of a mix of steel and crystal, each producing a satisfying frothy jet identical to the carved faucet. Tan spent several minutes letting them run, watching the bubbling water that ran down the plughole. It felt like watching the lives of twenty two other tributes slip away: a few droplets clung to ridges in the sink, but most were simply washed away.

Tan shook his head. Time to find something else to distract him from his fate. Tan ran into his bedroom, his bangs swinging around his forehead.

Literacy Frew walked briskly down her street in the Victor's Village, shouting Chrome's name and straightening her glasses. She was going to try and kill him for being late – and then Memory was going to finish him off.

"Chrome! Chrome! The train's leaving, so get off your lazy arse or Memory will poison you in your sleep!"

The creaking of Chrome Chronon's door was picked up by Literacy's catlike hearing. God, he looked terrible. His skin was the pallor of alabaster, while his hair which Literacy had bullied him into combing, was soaked in something Literacy frankly didn't want to know about. His eyes were bloodshot, and the guilty bottle of liquor in question was clutched tightly against Chrome's chest.

"Oh my goodness, how could you do that to yourself in under an hour!" muttered Literacy, her eyebrows suspended on her forehead in an expression of amusement. She strode up to him in her smart, strappy heels and snatched the bottle off him, promptly chucking in onto the drain. Chrome murmured incoherently.

"Come on, the trains leaving in five," said Literacy plainly, taking his hand and pulling him into her car. Chrome's brain was processing everything at half its normal speed; currently he was hanging somewhere around 'hour'. Literacy sighed, like this was becoming a routine.

"Wha-what's going on?" said Chrome in a slurred, sluggish voice.

"You're mentoring," stated Literacy. Chrome moaned.

"Like I said, train leaves in five. And if you even look at any wine, beer, cocktails, vodka, port or gin in the Capitol, I will personally have you whipped."

Chrome dragged his hands down his face in despair. Literacy could see the undersides of his eyelids in the rear view mirror. It was not a pleasant experience.

Chrome Chronon and Literacy Frew were crowned Victors about ten years ago. Literacy, the practical perfectionist, had decided to actually use her experiences to help other kids in the District, and had taken up teaching. Chrome, who had only been thirteen when he won, slowly turned to alcohol, which his system had an extremely low tolerance for. And every year they mentored it was Literacy's job to get him sober for at least a month.

Hunger Games season was not the highlight of the year for either of them.

Ten minutes later, they had boarded the train, which was now on its way to the heart of Panem. Literacy had forced Chrome into the shower, a decision she was reconsidering as he seemed to be trying to drown himself in there; she had gone to speak with Tandy, once her student. The poor thing was distraught about his family, but was constantly trying to distract himself from looking the problem in the eye.

"Hi, Miss Frew," Tan said as she walked in the door. His small fingers were stroking the stitched rusty red and green duvet.

"Hello Tandy," said Literacy kindly. She had always had a soft spot for Tandy O'Brien; the kid was born with a growth-hormone defect, meaning he still looked like he should have five or six years ago. His black hair swung around his forehead, nearly covering his dark eyes. His brown skin always looked slightly stretched on his scrawny form, like his body wanted to grow but couldn't seem to find the strength, giving him a skinny, weak appearance. Literacy was heartbroken that he was reaped; his family had never even thought about tesserae, and he was so young. The fact was that events like these just happened. The Capitol didn't have the slightest reason to be targeting him or any of his family, but a harmless, sweet little boy getting reaped just happened nonetheless.

"How are you finding things?" she said, sitting on the bed beside him and squeezing his hand. "Did your parents come to say goodbye?"

"Yes, they gave me a token," said Tandy, producing a carved wooden bird that fitted neatly in his hand. He held it out to Literacy so she could inspect it; she saw it was a bluejay. The bird had been carved beautifully – the markings around its neck and flight feathers were carved with small lines, giving it the appearance of darker feather. Its eyes were inlaid with small drops of amber, giving its eyes a shiny, playful quality.

"It looks cute, Tandy, she said, handing the bird back to him with a smile. "Did your father make this for you?"

Tan shook his head. "My mother, when I turned ten."

Literacy nodded. "How is Lyssa?"

Tan broke down into tears. Literacy hugged him, taking the green throw blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

"She-she was crying at the goodbyes," he sobbed. "P-people try to make m-me cry at school, but I have n-never seen my parents cry b-before." He sniffed, wiping his nose on the throw blanket. Literacy handed him a tissue. He blew into the tissue, then took a huge gulping sob. Literacy had seen people bully him at school.

'_Why couldn't one of them have been reaped?_ 'She thought before she could stop herself, appalled. She couldn't go around choosing people to get killed! The Games tore apart lives. She looked at Tan. His life had been turned upside-down – to see your parents cry was like watching a towering building come crashing down. Panem could make your greatest monuments crumble, make everyone in your district sad or happy, but it was a tragic day when you found out that the people you have faith in cry.

"Tan, why don't you have some sleep," she suggested tiredly. Tandy's blank face nodded, his shoulders shrugged. He absent-mindedly pulled the blanket off of him and climbed into the bed, still in his reaping shirt and trousers. Literacy tucked him in for good measure, feeling very self-conscious. She put on an encouraging smile anyway.

"Just go to sleep, Tan. Reaping days are tiring, and the time on the train doesn't exactly go by in a flash." She sighed. "And now I have to go and see Memory, and she'll hand me a timetable and ask me to sort everything out, and then I have to go and check up on Chrome, because he's probably forgotten how to put his trousers on, and _then_ I have to go and check the engine room and ask _Are we nearly there yet?_ on behalf of Memory and Chrome, because she's got an impatience problem and I need to know how long I have to try and make Chrome's hair look presentable, and then I need to go and ask the chefs about dinner, because although they cater to Memory's picky tastes I have about five allergies which they forget every time and I think Pixel might be gluten intolerant—"

She looked down at Tandy, his cheeks still wet but his expression of peace, lost in dreams.

"I hope you dream of your parents, Tan," she said.

After, Literacy had gone next door to find Pixel to distract herself by trying on every garment in her wardrobe – which were mainly dresses of some kind. Some designed for twelve-year-olds, Pix couldn't fit into, and so she just laid them out on her bed, letting the shiny fabric catch the light. The bigger ones she twirled around and around in, the skirts dancing around her heels. When Literacy walked in, she was wearing a soft red-pink sleeveless dress with sequins all across the bodice, looking at herself in the mirror. She blushed when Literacy entered.

"The colour suits you," said Literacy casually, nodding at Pixel.

"You think?" said Pixel, going back to looking at herself in the mirror. "The sequins look a bit too flashy, though. You might like this one better." Pixel strode back to the wardrobe and pulled out another dress of the same rosy hue. It was designed for summer – the skirt was long, plain and flowing, while the bodice was made of a sort of corset, with plain white cloth visible from underneath. The corset was tied with a brown leather cord, with small wooden beads at the ends.

"That looks great," said Literacy. "Why don't you try it on?"

Pixel disappeared into the en-suite silently, reappearing a minute later. The colour of the dress set a beautiful contrast against her warm brown eyes and rich, dark chocolate coloured wavy hair that ran down to her waist. The corset didn't look as tight as some of the strange Capitol women wore theirs, but it still accented curves that Pixel hadn't even known existed. Pix didn't consider herself beautiful, maybe borderline pretty, but in this outfit she glowed like a small star set in the obsidian night.

"It looks amazing, Pixel," said Literacy with the faintest of sighs. Pix looked like an innocent little girl who had grown tall yet kept her childish beauty, which made Literacy feel tragic inside, since she was heading into the Games.

Pix looked into the mirror critically. "I guess its ok," she sighed. A silent tear rolled down her right eye. "If only Dayta could have had a dress like this. She would have loved it." Pixel slumped down onto the bed.

Literacy sat beside her. "Who's Dayta?" she asked gently.

In response, Pix leant over to the drawers and picked up a grubby piece of folded yellowed paper, torn slightly where the creases met the edge of the page. She unfolded it. It was a sketch of four people sitting on a sofa; a pretty dark-haired woman with small bags under her eyes, a man with blond hair and his strong arm around the woman, smiling. Sitting on their laps were two girls; a sketch of a grinning Pix with slightly shorter hair and a small girl with bright eyes and hair that fell around her ears. She looked like she was giggling. Pix pointed to the small girl.

"That's Dayta. She's my sister," said Pix in a resigned voice. She put on a smile, pointing at the woman.

"This is Ani, my mother." Literacy nodded.

"What's your father's name?" she asked, pointing at the man. Pix's smile faded.

"I don't know who my father is, but that's how I think he'd look," she said. "He left before I was born. He didn't even come to say goodbye, although I waited for ages." Literacy shrugged.

"I can't see why he would do that," she said. "You and Dayta would be lovely daughters. I would love having you as a daughter." Literacy spoke softly. Sometimes the best thing for a tribute was pity. She wasn't given any herself, and she didn't want to just throw her tributes into the Games without them knowing that someone cared.

"He's not Dayta's father," said Pixel quietly. "My mum works in the prostitute house. I look after Dayta and the other kids." Pix looked embarrassed. Literacy just shrugged again.

"Hey, this is Panem," she said. "At least your family doesn't steal money." Pixel smiled.

"Do you have any friends?" asked Literacy. Pix nodded, sniffing.

"Tesla, she's nineteen," said Pix. "She taught me how to throw knives."

"Tesla Kith?" asked Literacy. "I used to teach her. She was very energetic, but she wasn't the most compliant of people." Literacy smiled. Pixel laughed. She could imagine bold Tesla making up funny excuses for why she hadn't done any homework.

"She's dyed her hair blue now," said Pix. Literacy laughed.

"Yep, that's Tesla," she said, smiling. "So she taught you how to throw knives?"

"Mmm hmm," mumbled Pix. "She's the fighter. I normally just tell everyone it's all going to work out, but Tesla taught me knives as a precaution."

"Nice," said Literacy. She glanced at her watch. "I need to go and check on Chrome, see if he's sobered up enough to walk again." She stood up and gave a kind smile to Pix.

"Just keep telling yourself it's all going to work out, ok?" she said, striding out of the room.

**I'm really sorry about the weird lines that keep appearing between paragraphs, I don't know how to get rid of them!**  
**Next chapter will be coming out in a few days at the most  
There are still some available tribute slots so keep sending them in. Slots are: Male D5, D8, D11 and D12  
Cya ;)  
-Lemonquill**

_**Keep sending in tributes and reviewing! We hope you look forward to the next chapter~**_


	6. District 4 Train Ride

**Back with another chapter, enjoy!**

_**This chapter has been brought to you by Amberleaf Lemonquill and MidnightRaven323, enjoy XD**_

Kai Blake swaggered down the train corridor and past the kitchens where Capitol attendants were preparing dinner. Delicious smells of creamy chicken and custard wafted down the corridor. Good. He was starving.

He had decided to stay in his compartment for the day, looking through all the stuff. All his. A little less shabby than what he had back home, but hey, he was a Career now - practically royalty, in the eyes of the Capitol. Careers were like the ferocious wild dogs outside the District fence: deadly hunters, searching in packs for the weak. Superior. And with his drop-dead looks, all the Capitolites would be dying to sponsor him.

Kai ran his fingers through his messy black hair, his bright blue eyes set in an expression of victory.

Kai had changed out of his blue shirt and white jeans he had worn for the Reaping, favouring a grey tank top that showed off his tanned, scarred biceps. He wanted the Mentors to know that he was the one they should favour this year, not that stupid fifteen-year-old, Marin. She was reaped, for goodness' sake, probably not even trained.

'_It would be a miracle if she made it into the Career pack,_' he thought as he walked lazily down to the lounge compartment, where the Mentors would be discussing the tactic for this year's Games.

As he predicted, Trident and Syren were sitting at the large silver table, chatting idly. Trident was twiddling a knife in his fingers. Kai sat down, slouching in his chair opposite Syren. She snatched the knife off Trident, scowling. Syren Lark and Trident Flow were supposedly close friends, following their victory, but they really loathed each other and only stuck together because they both knew District Four needed more victors.

"So, strategies," Kai began, and Trident sat up straight in his seat.

"Firstly, don't underestimate Marin," he replied, making Kai glare at him. Trident wasn't just good with weapons; he was the smarts of his Career pack. He could tell what Kai was thinking – he had seen it all before. The arrogant boy, trained as per family tradition, thinking there was no way he could possibly lose. Well, Trident had seen others like that get killed in their sleep on the first night, which just goes to prove being good with a sword isn't everything. But he had to be careful how he went about telling them that; and unfortunately, flattery was the best option.

"Kai, I've seen you at the training centre, and I have seen you lopping off limbs with swords like a pro." Kai sat up again. Now that he thought the Mentors were definitely placing him over Marin, time to get his point through.

"But here's the thing: if you let Marin die without trying to help her, the sponsors will seriously doubt your abilities," Trident continued. Always guide it back to the kid; that was the trick.

"If you can keep both yourself and Marin alive, the sponsors alone will guarantee that you will win. And it will make your time in the Arena a lot more comfortable."

Kai smirked. "And what if Marin proves a burden rather than an asset?"

Trident raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sure she would be delighted to hear that, wouldn't you, Marin?"

* * *

Marin had spent the whole morning lying in her compartment, her honey-coloured hair splayed out on her pillow, trying to work out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. It wasn't some grand philosophical discussion: she was only planning for the next few weeks.

Her mind kept replaying through her reaping. After Morgana's death, the Reapings made her seriously nervous: to pretend she wasn't, she just kept talking to whoever she was standing next to that day.

Today it was Narissa, a funny girl with fiery hair whom she often hung out with at school. Today she was making small jokes accompanied by small smiles, showing that she was scared but trying to look on the bright side anyway – or at least just trying to put it out of her mind. Afterwards, Marin couldn't remember what the both of them had said; her mind hadn't thought the random conversation important, just something to pass the painful minutes that stretched into hours. She wouldn't even let her eyes glance up onto the stage: the Capitol escort became a simple blur of bright blue or green, accompanied by a strangely high and feminine male voice; the screen playing the old war video was just a brown and black picture with the occasional muffled explosion.

She became just another fish in a school of thousands, only too aware of the dark fate looming over them, casting a shadow over their otherwise sunny lives. They tried to ignore it, but it was always there, sitting in the corner of their eyes. . .

A shift occurred in the crowd, signalling that the first name had been called. Marin kept talking, not noticing that Narissa's eyebrows had rocketed up her forehead, and the murmurs of the crowd were all around her. Marin's sentences trailed off into silence. She swallowed hesitantly.

"Narissa," she whispered, "Who just got reaped?"

Silent tears filled her friend's forest-green eyes.

Marin felt strong hands grasp her shoulders. She turned around and found herself staring into the eyes of her best friend Troy. Understanding passed between them in a second, his aqua eyes looking into her cobalt blue ones. He took her hand, squeezing it gently, and started to walk with her up to the stage.

On any other day, her stomach would have been in knots from this contact with Troy: Marin had harboured a secret crush on him for as long as he could remember, but he had hooked up with a prettier girl called Solice a few months ago. Yet all she felt today was dread, walking up to the same fate as her sister had six years ago.

All she could see while walking up to the stage was memories of her sister's Games; Morgana's calm voice as she hugged Marella, thirteen years old, who she had just volunteered for; Morgana's shining sea-green mermaid outfit, smiling as her chariot sailed down the City Centre; her training score of nine and her interview, laughing along with the hosts; her Career pack, and the District Seven twelve-year-olds she had skewered with her arrows in the bloodbath; and Morgana finally burning to death, pushed into the flames by her District One ally, his cruel laughs echoing in the chamber of Marin's skull. Marin could see this now, but with herself in her sister's place, burning to ashes under the dry savannah arena's heat. . .

The goodbyes were close to torture for her, but she couldn't leave her family without words of comfort. _That _would be real torture. So when her family walked through the door, she smiled and squeezed each one of them in a warm embrace. Her mother, Murel, usually funny and loud, was silently weeping for her next daughter to be forced into the arena. Her father, Kai Flessen, sometimes grouchy after work, now pulling Marin into a warm hug, expressing all the word he never had the time to say. Her older sister, Marella, was crying, but a brave smile adorned her face; she was trying to be brave for her younger sister as Morgana had been brave for her on the day of her own Reaping. Her ten-year-old brother, Caspian, was whimpering. He had only been four when Morgana was murdered in the arena; often he still had nightmares, waking in the early hours of the morning, paralysed with fear. Marin immediately grabbed Caspian, wrapping her strong arms around him – he looked like he was about to faint on the spot.

Afterwards, Marin couldn't recall all the details of her goodbyes. She reasoned it was better this way, that now she could focus on other things. But inside she felt hollow, like her world had shattered and she was struggling to piece it together again. The most vivid memory from her last minutes with her family was of Caspian asking her to promise that she would come back. Tears flooded down her face, because she knew that was a promise she couldn't afford to make.

As her family were escorted out by the Peacekeepers, Marin decided that she had to be strong for her family. She was the second child taken from the Flessens, and she couldn't let them see a weak, hopeless girl on the screens. She had trained for the Games after Morgana had been killed – she even had some pretty good skills with spears and swords. Technically, she was a Career, even if she was reaped. In the car to the train station, the idea dawned on her that she could win.

Marin had heard of Kai Blake before, and not just because he shared her father's name– the volunteers from the Academy often made up the popular groups at school – and knew he was a standard Career thug: overconfident and able to kill without hesitation in a hundred different ways.

His scars alone showed how much time he spent at the training academy, and he was tall and muscular. Marin usually trained late on weekends, and she didn't usually see Kai coming in to train at that time. Once, though, his training schedule did overlap with Marin's – she remembered watching him and his girlfriend, Milah Jones, hacking away at training dummies with swords and knives.

Kai lopped off limbs with extreme force, and one he chopped straight down the middle, severing its torso cleanly in two. Marin knew she should to stick with her district partner: he had the kind of muscles that made the Capitol sponsors swoon. It wasn't something she would normally do, but this was the Hunger Games, after all. The only thing that worried Marin about the sponsors was the fact that romance was not a strategy they were going to implement – because of the aforementioned girlfriend – and many districts do that every year, swaying the sponsor's decisions hugely. Ever since the 74th Games, the Careers' winning streaks had decreased significantly. Maybe they could stick around with some Careers after the breakup, or make an alliance with some other lovebirds.

* * *

After several hours of thinking about half-formed strategies and her home district that was getting further away every minute, Marin realised she was starving. She wandered down the corridor of the train, briefly noticing how it was swaying slightly because of the magnetic rails, to the lounge car. It comprised of several elegant wrought-silver coffee tables surrounded by round, green velvety armchairs with mountains of decorative pillows heaped upon them. Marin thought it was a little ludicrous to have so many chairs, since the train was only escorting four people – three of whom were seated in the far corner of the room. Kai was leant back in his chair, but his eyes were interested, like a cat whose ears are flicking in the direction of a hiding mouse. The mentors, Trident and Syren, were seated opposite him. Trident was engaging Kai in conversation, leaning forward in his chair. Syren was using a knife to clean her dirty fingernails, her face covered by her straight brown hair.

". . .make your time in the Arena a lot more comfortable," said Trident.

Kai smirked. "And what if Marin proves a burden rather than an asset?" Marin's face flushed in indignation.

Trident raised his eyebrows, his gaze shifting to Marin who was standing directly behind Kai.

"I'm sure she would be delighted to hear that, wouldn't you, Marin?"

Thirteen years of training didn't even show on Kai's face when he saw the glare Marin was giving him.

"I can hold my own in a fight, Kai," she said calmly, although her eyes could have belonged to a lioness.

"Ok, ok," muttered Kai, visibly blushing. Kai liked to think of himself as a lady's man, but relations with Marin were not going the way he had planned.

Syren got up, lazily walking up to Marin, and inspected her tall, lean body. It made Marin feel a little nervous, but she knew Syren was going to talk a lot with her about weapons skills, since she had been the deadliest tribute in the arena during her Games, and Marin would value her advice.

Syren muttered under her breath: "Good frame, heavy weapons shouldn't be too much of a problem. . . Not too out of practice it seems, judging from the biceps. . ." She rose her voice. "Kai, Marin, I want both of you to run to the end of the next train car and back." She clapped her hands. "Go!" she snapped irritably.

Kai leapt out of his seat and bolted for the door, knocking over several chairs on the way. Marin was way ahead of him, dodging between the tables, her feet hardly making any noise against the polished wooden floor (although it may have been that she was just quiet compared to Kai, who was stomping like an elephant).

She stopped running and fiddled with the handle on the door; Kai, catching up, almost trampled her as he burst through the door. Marin followed him into the next car – the dining car, comprised of two long tables either side of the main corridor, covered in ice white tablecloths embroidered with swirly blue patterns, the plates, cutlery and napkins already set for dinner (again, Marin wondered why there were so many places at the tables). Without hesitating, she jumped up onto the left table, flying along the tablecloth, not even displacing a single carefully folded napkin.

Kai was thundering along the corridor, almost at the end wall of the car; he collided against the wall with a dull thump, overturning three chairs as he turned back to sprint back to the door.

"Ohh, no you don't, Career." said Marin under her breath, as she touched the wall and then leapt back onto the table.

Kai was a fast runner, but Marin had spent most of her childhood dodging strangers in the streets and around her house as she grew up with her sisters under the radiant District Four sun. She was as agile as a tomcat, and easily outmanoeuvred Kai, squeezing through the door just ahead of him. Syren looked mildly impressed. Trident was frowning and muttering about how those chairs had cost a fortune, and the Capitol attendants would be livid. Kai just laughed and clapped him on the back.

"Marin," Syren said grumpily, and Marin got the feeling she was about to get scolded. But instead, Syren's features suddenly displayed a look of mischievous glee.

"Welcome to the Careers," she said with a smile. Kai let out a sort of whoop, and flung his arms around Marin in a rib-cracking hug. Marin had no idea several kilos of muscle could hurt that bad without even trying. She held on; Kai was her lifeline back to District Four, and she could put up with a bit of awkward hugging if it meant she could go back home.

* * *

**A small reminder to everyone who has reserved a tribute to get them in soon, then I will be able to write all the reapings quickly and get into the chariot rides ****:)**

_**Then next chapter shall be up soon **__**:)**_


	7. District 5 Remake Center

**Welcome back to Panem everyone! :D**

_**New chapter for District 5! Bringing you Niko and Vira, enjoy. . .**_

* * *

As they pulled into the Capitol station, Niko caught glimpses of a rainbow. Then it slid into full view, colours from the palest pink to the deepest indigo, textures like crocodile skin and liquid gold, plain patterns and stars of all colours embellishing the fabric. The crowd-rainbow was waving and cheering for Niko, and for a moment he was hypnotized by the attention.

Then he smiled shyly and waved back.

"What's going on out there?" asked Vira.

Niko had decided to like Vira – she was only a head taller than him, which made her a lot less intimidating since she was five years older than him, and she was trying to look out for him. The argument she had with her mentor, while muffled by the train walls, was still ringing in his ears. The words he had heard had struck him dumb. He honestly couldn't believe what he had heard.

Obviously he knew the rumors of the Van Zander-Bloemfontein girl – Newt had told him she had actually been expelled from school after one of his friends had mentioned her mother's betrayal in the Games and Vira had full-out attacked him. She spent most of her time away from public in the Victor's Village but the rumors didn't go away. Left in the school classrooms, they rotted and decomposed into the worst reputation in the whole of District 5.

Vira Van Zander-Bloemfontein had anger issues originating from her mother: an exceedingly violent Victor who had fallen 'ill' shortly after giving birth to Vira. Hydie Bloemfontein had strangled her own district partner, Vira's 'father', before she went up against three Careers in the finale of her Hunger Games, impaling one with his own sword and strangling the other two with her own bare hands. Vira was the daughter of the most brutal tribute District Five had ever given to the Games.

But her strategy was to lose.

To die in the Hunger Games.

Niko turned to look at Vira. "There are heaps of people on the platform," he said. "Come see."

Vira walked over to the train window, her wavy brown hair swinging behind her back. She had a yellow rose tucked behind one ear, complementing the yellow frock she was wearing. It had a large ribbon tied around the waist, giving her an innocent, young demeanor. She peered out of the window, looking at the crowds, who screamed a fresh wave of cheers as they spied Vira's face.

Vira, however, wore an expression of distaste. She sat back down on the round white armchair, staring into space. It made Niko sad to see a Victor's daughter, someone who usually had to be tough to deal with the bullies at school, completely hopeless. He went over to her, hovering by the side of the chair. She looked at him and smiled tiredly.

"You ok, Vira?" Niko asked tensely.

"I'm fine," she lied. "It's just that rich food for dinner. Although I suppose we ought to get used to it, seeing as we should be trying to gain energy for the Games." She sighed. "Or we could technically starve ourselves to prepare for the arena. I could try to get us some food, but I really don't know how to identify plants, I need to work on that in training…" She trailed off, muttering under her breath. Niko went back to staring at the Capitol people.

* * *

Spark Detroit, Niko's mentor, walked along with them out of the train. Della Lumina, Vira's mentor, and Viktor Champagne, the escort, followed close behind.

As soon as they stepped onto the platform they were blinded by the flash of cameras and deafened by the screams of Capitolites. Niko tried to squint, but people were yelling at him; "Smile for the camera, sweetie; eyes open, we need a good shot for the morning edition; turn the other way, hon, I can't see your face!"

Niko caught a glance of a middle-aged, pot-bellied man with weird purple hair waving at Vira creepily, but he was soon engulfed by the wave of photographers. Vira's features bore a look of shocked disgust.

Spark grabbed Niko firmly by the shoulders and steered him into a white car that was awaiting them at the edge of the platform. Once they got in, Spark slammed the door shut and the noise and lights ceased. Niko saw that the windows were tinted black, making it harder to see out of the car. Spark sighed with relief.

"So, Della informs me our schedule is two hours in Remake, then straight to the City Centre for the parade." Niko glanced around. Della was currently in the front seat with Viktor, giggling. Niko ignored them.

Spark continued. "In Remake, they can tend to be a bit… overenthusiastic." Vira snorted. Spark cracked a small smile. Niko could tell he was trying as hard as he could: Spark had won only three years ago and this was his first time mentoring.

"So," he said," if there's anything you want them to leave alone, just tell them, ok?"

Vira fingered her hair. Niko peered out of the windows, looking at all the weird Capitol fashions.

"Will they listen to us?" asked Niko.

Spark's face fell. "Probably not."

Vira laughed. Spark smiled awkwardly. Della and Viktor were still giggling in the front seat, oblivious to any conversation their tributes were having. Niko had hardly seen Della on the train: she was too busy catching up on all the latest Capitol gossip with Viktor. Spark had told Niko and Vira that although Della had mentored for a considerable number of years, she would be no help mentoring – she lived for her trips to the Capitol, and didn't "waste" her time actually _helping _her tributes – she just chatted with the Gamemakers and went to parties all Hunger Games season.

As they drove through the Capitol streets, Niko was once more captivated by the colours of the shining heart of Panem. He gazed with childlike wonder at the gleaming towers and the streetlights softly changing colour from deep purple to a neon green, lighting up the muted dusk. A small thought nagged at the back of his mind: _this was all made with slave labour. _

He knew it was true. District Five had one of the greatest assets from the Dark Days and earlier – libraries. Many Capitolians just had books downloaded onto computers and read from luminescent screens, but District Five had the knowledge of days long past. No one could hack into paper and edit the words inked onto the pages, like Niko was sure they did in the Capitol. District Five knew what Panem had been put through. This was why District Five's Peacekeepers were so unforgiving. District Five had withheld the truth all these years, a truth that, although every District knew the basic details, Niko's home had been given full and complete access too. His's own family, although still poor along with everyone else, was respected in District Five even though the Watt children had all been brought up with a deep disgust of the Capitol. Niko had found a big, brown leather book in the back of the library when he was a young child. He opened it, hoping to find a fairy-tale or some science-y book that could be of use to his family. Instead, it was a catalogue of the slaves used to construct the Capitol for the first time.

It was designed as a haven, a Utopia for future generations, mostly constructed by prisoners condemned for life. Murderers and rebels. The other workers were conscripted: they were commanded by the government to work. He had read that book every night. Now, as he watched the streets roll by, he recalled names and hours spent toiling in the sun. He saw the carefully inked names of those that had long perished in work for this place. Niko's sense of childish admiration for the city withered away in a second, replaced by irrefutable proof of tears.

The price of paradise.

* * *

Vira lay on the reclining chair wrapped in plastic. She was covered by a white hospital gown (for now) but she felt every inch naked. A trio of Capitolites, all identical with neon green eyes and hair - Vira suspected they were triplet sisters - were poking and prodding at her skin, which was tender after her limbs had been waxed. The jabbered on in high-pitched voices about how exciting it must be to be a daughter of a Victor. Currently, one was rinsing her hair in a small tub attached to the chair. They had taken away her clothes and the yellow rose she had grown at her home. And when she thought it couldn't get any worse, they started talking about Nena.

Vira decided to tune out of their voices completely, and examined the Remake Centre more closely.

The building walls were plain, white and metallic, giving a creepy, sterile appearance. Other tributes were lying on other chairs in the room, but she couldn't see them as they were obscured by blue plastic curtains. She only knew they were there because more high-pitched prep team voices drifted across the room. To her left there was a metal tray of at least fifty different kinds of tweezers, on a tray to her right there were small, shallow pots of weird jellies and creams. The lady washing her hair had her own tray of bottles and hairbrushes, which Vira couldn't see, but she knew it was there because every time the lady raised her hand she was holding a different instrument.

A squeal from one of the sisters yanked Vira's attention back to their conversation.

"Did you hear? Azrael said only the stylists are invited to the pre-Games party. It's soooo unfair!"

"Did you hear? Quartz said that she deserves a raise but Azrael was too busy showering the lovebirds with cash. They are _so_ pampered…"

"Did you hear? The party was originally going to be at Emmie's mansion, but Nena practically commandeered the party and paid Azrael a heap of money to relocate it at Brevasti resort."

All three sisters squealed loudly. Vira groaned. Nena, Capitol Rich Guy and Utter Worm Extraordinaire, was involved in her Games. Fantastic. At least her mother wasn't mentoring. The first time Hydie had mentored, Vira had been five.

Seeing her mother getting walked all over by that phony who was nearly old enough to be Hydie's own father had made her want to puke. Vira had stayed home every time after that, but it was obvious from the TV that Hydie still thought Nena Brevasti was Mr Wonderful. Nena certainly didn't think that much of Hydie, as the most he did was ogle her every chance he got. Vira sighed. Her mother did not have the best luck with men – illegitimately strangling the first and then settling for a middle-aged Capitol jerk who had more love-affairs than an oversexed rabbit.

Vira was harshly shoved back out of her thoughts and into the Remake Center, as the tallest triplet tore a large section of her leg hair off her already tender skin, which had been scrubbed with something that resembled purple gravel. Vira gasped loudly, and the torturer/prep stylist groaned and pouted.

"Sweet-pea, can you try keep quiet? I can't go through another Games feeling like I've just caused some poor little celebrity pain."

Another sister laughed, a nasal, cruel sound that reminded Vira of a wicked-witch story Hydie used to tell her before bed when Vira came home with mediocre grades, ensuring that five-year-old Vira didn't get a wink of sleep.

"Melody, darling, your conscience is so peculiar!" the sister said, ripping out Vira's eyebrows with a pair of pointy tweezers that Vira was terrified of since they were about half an inch from her eyeball. "Imagine all the sponsors this cutie wouldn't get if we left those disgusting legs the way they were!"

The prep team all laughed and went back to gossiping. Vira was used to them talking like she wasn't there – in fact, Melody's outburst was the only acknowledgement of their client so far.

A squat woman with her head covered in pink braids swinging around her waist burst through the plastic curtain to Vira's left. Vira jerked her head in the direction of the newcomer, then winced as the eyebrow hair that the tweezers of doom had held in a tight grasp was plucked from her forehead. The squat woman began to speak in a ridiculously low voice that sounded as squashed as she looked.

"My client's done. Lucretia and Fawno have turned in for the night to get ready for the Chariot Rides."

Vira recalled that Niko had been herded into the booth to her left – he must have been this woman's "client".

"Does that mean I'm almost done?" Vira asked timidly.

Everyone laughed.

"Honey, you've still got at least another hour, judging by that arm hair," said the squat woman, a hint of distaste seeping through the words.

Vira groaned and Melody laid another adhesive strip down on her leg.

* * *

Vira's stylist wasn't much better. They had met in the tribute residence, where Vira had stayed before with her mother. The Capitol designers didn't even change the bedsheets, year after year the same.

This year, the famous Raven Romulus had been assigned to District Five, and her first words upon seeing Vira were "I had hoped for a blond," before pouring herself a glass of deep red wine.

_'I had hoped not to get reaped.'_ thought Vira spitefully, looking at the stylist with cold eyes.

Raven Romulus was a tall and spindly young woman, with willowy limbs and clear skin. She had gold hoop earrings which shone out of thick curly hair that looked ridiculously fake. Raven's hair hung past her waist, falling into five giant curls that looked as if they had tennis balls hidden inside. Each curl was dyed a different colour, bold red, yellow, green, blue and purple to contrast sharply with her platinum blond hair. The hair bobbed around her as she walked in a slightly hypnotising manner. Raven was also wearing a dress made of broken shards of mirrors, reflecting the already-bright streetlights of dusk in the window of the Tribute's residence building. Raven's features were small and petite, but made sharp by accented makeup and her cold expression. All of this screamed "_Notice me!" _but Raven's expression showed a busy stylist's private life; the one that all the Capitol magazines groped for; the drinking, the snapping temper, the attitude. And Vira's mere appearance had already triggered all three.

"What a waste. I had already prepared three outfits. Now I'm going to have to make more, all because of your stupid hair colour."

Raven produced a small phone-like object from her reflective dress. She started tapping onto the glass screen. Vira peered over to look at the device – the screen was glowing, but Raven shooed her away with her long silver nails.

"Get away, I don't want to get District filth on this." she said, eyeing Vira distastefully. Vira answered before she could help herself.

"Oh, no, Victor filth just won't do in the Capitol," she said spitefully, her voice full of malice and her tones laced with hate. Raven looked up at Vira, her eyebrows lifting for a split-second in surprise before lying down in a scowl. She then silently went back to tapping on the screen of her device. Vira sat down. She cursed herself. Vira had studied her own violence and hatred, and had found it was identical to that of her mothers', which absolutely horrified her. Vira didn't ever want to make enemies.

Even worse, Raven seemed to have a good idea for a costume now. She was muttering under her breath.

"Green should go well with your skin tone," said Raven, a sly note sneaking into her voice. She threw the phone device onto the bed next to Vira. She peered onto the shining image on the screen and groaned.

"Back down to the Remake Center, sweetie. See you in five," said Raven cheerily, trotting down the glass stairs of the building in her platform heels.

Vira took a closer look at the screen. It showed a revolving pink mannequin, wearing what had to be the most painful outfit ever designed. A chunky bra and short skirt covered in geometrical clumps of bright silver enclosed the chest and groin. There was also a matching headpiece, resembling a small lump of fool's gold, on the mannequin's stumpy neck. Running all over the mannequin's pink surface were stripes of glowing neon green, pulsing in time with the rotation on the screen. It was obvious the pigment was placed under the skin. Even with Capitol painkillers, having a couple of litres of glowing paste under Vira's skin was bound to be uncomfortable. And even worse, Nena Brevasti popped into her mind. He would be staring at her near-naked body as she rolled down in the Tribute Parade.

Vira flopped back on the bed, sighing, before walking over to the elevator and requesting to go down to the Remake Centre, which was right under the basement. The dungeon, as her mother used to call it.

Time to get this over with.

* * *

Niko couldn't help letting out a small yelp of pain as one of his prep team, Amira, injected another dose of bio-luminescent pigment into his right arm. She stood back, her pink braids swinging, holding the weird gun thing at her side. It was a small, fat, device made of cold, grey metal, resembling a hot glue gun. A glass tank of glowing green liquid, now almost empty, was fastened to one end. Niko studied his arm. It was covered with glowing green stripes, pulsating slightly, which disgusted and fascinated him at the same time. The pigment made the arm slightly heavier - when Niko stood he felt unbalanced - and it gave Niko's skin an uneven texture; although still smooth, small ridges ran over his skin where the pigment had been inserted in straight lines down his arm.

"Creepy," he commented.

"Now you look like a normal Capitolite," said Amira, bursting out in laughter. Niko's stylist, Sheem, chuckled absently. Niko had come to the conclusion that Sheem was a pretty bad stylist. He stood there in his candy-purple suit and just looked at Niko while his prep team did all the work. When Raven came in, he was even more useless. She walked all over him.

Raven was manipulative and ambitious, a dangerous combination. She had presented Niko with his outfit, made up on the spot to match Vira's, and practically growled at him to wear it. Inserting glowing paste into his skin wasn't an attractive notion, but Niko could see that crossing Raven would be even more dangerous. So he had agreed. Now his arm was glowing.

"Don't worry, honey. The second dose will be easier," said Amira, slotting another vial of green liquid into the gun machine. Niko lay down on the chair, and felt the cold metal of the device against his left shoulder. A wet slapping sensation followed, and a glowing patch of pigment pulsed under his skin.

"I just feel sorry for your partner. She had to have almost her full body done." Niko glanced at Vira. Currently her prep team were working on her lower back; both her arms and her stomach were glowing. Raven was standing over her with a triumphant look on her face. This must be Vira's "punishment" for whatever she had done to Raven.

"Does this stuff come off, or am I gonna have to go into the Arena illuminated?" asked Niko.

Amira injected some more pigment into his skin. "No, but it should just get absorbed into your body overnight. The light will only last for about three hours, and then it just turns green. Your skin might be a little red tomorrow, though." Niko nodded.

He observed his outfit, which was lying on a table to his right. It was a body suit that left his arms bare, made of a stretchy black material with the dark silver shapes attached. In theory, it should be quite warm. Vira's, on the other hand, would leave almost all of her skin exposed. She lay on the chair set out for her, allowing her prep team to "decorate" her back. Her body looked tired and broken, but Niko could see her once warm grey eyes, now staring daggers at Raven's smirk.

Eventually Amira had completely illuminated both of Niko's arms, and tried fitting his outfit over his head. Niko raised his arms, but when they brushed against the textile Niko jerked his arm back. Amira sighed.

"Niko, it's not even bad yet. Put the outfit on."

Niko raised his arms, and felt the outfit slide over him. It felt like tiny hammers smashing against sore bruises on his arm.

"You'll be badly bruised tomorrow," sighed Amira. "Now look towards me."

Niko obliged, and felt a cool, sticky substance painted onto his lips. She was putting silver lipstick on him! The horror! Niko imagined his sisters laughing at him. Amira then went to paint him eyelids with silver-green powder, and styled his auburn hair into spikes. When he finally got a look at himself in the mirror, he was shocked. Literally. He looked as if he was encased inside a microchip, or a piece of metal ore. Electricity ran over his arms in glowing green lines, and his make-up was heavy – silver lips, green blusher, and green and silver tones were painted around his eyes. His hair, usually coming down to his forehead in waves, stood straight up in cones on his head. Amira clapped.

"You look stunning! Quick, let's get you on the chariot."

She steered him through corridors into a garage, where a limousine was waiting. Amira almost shoved him in, she was so excited.

"Hang on, isn't Vira coming?" Niko asked tensely. Amira waved the question aside.

"She's got to have more makeup done. Didn't you see, when we left they were still working on her legs!" Amira giggled girlishly, which didn't exactly suit her, since she looked about 40. "We can go prep the chariot and she'll get here in time for the parade."

And so, once again Niko felt as if he was a package to be shuttled around. No one seemed to really think he needed to know _where _he was going. Just no time to stop, no time to waste, no time to _breathe_. Upon getting out of the limo, Niko was given a black cloak to cover himself, since the dreaded paparazzi were there again. Amira had a fit because she thought the cloak would ruin his hair, so as soon as they got into the building where they were launching the parade a team of makeup artists descended on him, re-spiking his hair and adding even more makeup. Niko was busy trying to get a look at the other tributes, but they looked as weirdly costumed as he did, and unrecognisable from the mix of tributes he had seen on the Reaping programme on the train.

Niko's mentors had turned up for the show, which was great because Amira wasn't exactly reassuring company. Della went into complete adoration mode, which was hilarious to watch but actually made Niko a lot less self-conscious about his unnaturally feminine appearance:

"Oh, my GOSH, this outfit is so stunning! We are going to be the best dressed team in the Games! I have to go congratulate Raven, she has such good design skills," twittered Della, and promptly ran off to find Raven. Spark managed a mumbled "that must hurt" before he was dragged off by Niko's escort to go get a seat for the parade.

Suddenly, Raven Romulus entered the room. The effect was instantaneous. Every other stylist's head turned, some displaying emotions of pride and admiration, others of jealousy and hate. Following her was Vira, in barely any clothing. Her face was melancholy. The outfit accented the fact that Vira was short for her age, and had not much of a figure. Vira tried to cover her bare torso with her arms, but it would have been near impossible – Niko's own arms felt tender and bruised from the pigment, and he couldn't imagine how Vira would feel. Vira's hair was covered by a matching silver headdress, her curled brown hair obscured by a flashy ornamental hat, which was obviously meant for that purpose.

"Get on the chariot," Raven snapped, slapping at Vira's shoulder. She winced, and climbed onto the silver-green platform, pulled by two pure white horses. Niko noticed that Raven had not injected them with luminous liquid. He asked her why.

"Oh, animal cruelty is illegal in the Capitol," Raven said with a nasty smile.

Vira grabbed Niko's hand. Luckily their hands were left untouched by the green pigment, or they wouldn't even be able to attend training.

"Preparing to launch chariots, District One lead in five…" announced a loud voice, echoing through the large room.

The horses tensed, ready to trot out into the City Centre.

"Four…"

The chariots were slowly getting into alignment, the District Five chariot slowly edging forward.

"Three…"

The giant doors of the room were creaking open, lights and screams of the Capitol audience leaking through.

"Two…"

As Niko's chariot started to move forward, he grabbed the metal rim of the small circular platform he was standing on.

"One…"

Niko looked into Vira's eyes. She was smiling bravely.

"May the odds be ever in your favour, Niko Watt."

* * *

**On the subject of chariot outfits, if you have had any sudden ideas for your tribute's chariot or interview outfit, you can PM me as I will be going into massive detail in the chariot ride chapter :)  
Reminder to any and all who wish to submit a tribute: please, please, please get them in ASAP or I won't be able to write them!  
Next chapter should come out in a couple of days :D  
-Lemonquill**

_**Personally, I just LOVE Vira's last name XD I've been saying this to Lemonquill every single time she would be working on the District 5 chapter. I just love it, but NO this does not mean she gets an advantage or anything.**_


	8. District 6 Reaping

**Tadaa!**

_**Here is the D6 Reaping ~  
I had to make Lianne because we had no stereotypical Career girls in these games :( So we just had to make one up! No worries, she won't win.**_

Lianne Chrome waited for her mentor and guardian, Hound to come and wake her up. God, she was tired. He had spent three hours yesterday taking her on a ten kilometer hike around the outside fence of District Six. Lianne thought the wild outside the fence was weird, and felt kinda unsettled when she was sent on a training mission out there. It was strange how there were so many forests that Panem hadn't already burnt down. Lianne grabbed a lighter from her bedside drawers and flicked it on, watching the blue flame where the oil in the lighter ignited, heating the metal and scalding her fingers. She smiled.

Heavy thuds sounded as Hound stomped up the stairs to the dorm room. Lianne remembered when the sound of kids filled the room, groaning about the exercises they'd been put through, or discussing strategies with a glint in their eyes. Now she was the only one in the dorm room. The others were now long gone – either through starvation, or infection Hound couldn't cure, or through the rigorous training he put them through. Lianne enjoyed the peace and quiet.

The door was pushed open and Hound stepped inside. His shaggy black hair was in its usual 'controlled chaos' look, a few strand falling into his visible brown eye, while the other was covered by a leather patch that hid a long scar running down his right eye. Usually, he would have waited for her to come down to the lounge of the abandoned factory Hound and his 'students' lived in, and start with her training. But today, he seemed slightly more sentimental. Because today Lianne was going off to the Hunger Games, and it was time to see if her lifelong training regime had worked.

"Get up, sweetness" he said gruffly, with sarcasm woven into the pet name.

Lianne grunted and threw the torn duvet across the room, swung her legs over the side and walked groggily over to the drawer where she kept her three outfits. Her nightie – slightly blood-stained from the time Hound had pitted her against a guy who was sixteen, whereas she had been nine at the time – was way too small for her, barely reaching her thighs. She tugged at the tiny wooden handle of the drawer. It wouldn't budge. Ugh. She brushed her thin, dark hair out of her equally dark eyes, put her foot through the top of the drawer and casually removed her clothes. Lianne was not a morning person.

"You know that drawer cost me the antlers of a fine buck, sweetness," growled Hound, leaning against the wall and cleaning his fingernails with a foot-and-a-half long machete.

"Hah," spat Lianne, changing into her reaping outfit consisting of a faded burgundy dress that reached above her knees and a wide leather belt to go around her waist. She remembered those antlers, mounted on a plate in the mayor's house. Leave it to Hound to make it sound as if he had shot the beast himself. Some of Hound's older disciples had stolen it about six years ago in a stealth exercise. One had been caught . . . and shot. "Less than half that; I saw you spending the rest on morphling and vodka."

For someone who was the best bounty hunter in Panem, he wasn't very truthful, but hey, it was part of the job.

Hound smirked. "Sure you did. Come down in five, breakfast is in the pan." He turned to leave."Big day today, sweetness," he said, a grin on his unshaven face.

* * *

Axel Pascal woke up on that same morning. He lay in bed for about a minute and let the sunlight from the cracks in his ceiling shine into his dark eyes, dreaming about the day ahead, walking himself through every step he had carefully planned. He was almost bursting with excitement, he was giddy with eagerness. Today everything would change.

He went downstairs. His mother and father were already awake – a lifetime of waking up early for work was hard to change.

Mercedes Pascal was lying on the sofa-bed, drinking from a chipped cup of lukewarm weak tea. Her stance looked tired, but her eyes were bright and attentive. Axel's father, Mercer, was sitting on a spindly chair they had scavenged from when one of the factories was shut down. He was also drinking some tea from a small bowl. Mercer nodded at his son. His father approved of his plan, for it would surely succeed. Or maybe he just couldn't face the possibility of it failing. . .

Axel went over to his mother, hugging her tired arms. She had been working in the factory half the night for more than five years straight, and her arms were thin and spindly as they didn't have enough money to feed their family of three. Axel himself had worked hard at car-repair factories – car grease usually stained his already black hair and dark skin. But he had coped better with the constant work; he was tall and lean, and had learned to be fast to escape the Peacekeepers enforcing curfew, since he worked way after hours.

Mercedes looked up at her son and smiled. "My son," she said softly.

Axel's heart almost broke, for her eyes were full of pride. He knew the gamble he was taking was necessary, but it didn't make it right. His parents were actually going along with this plan – much more than he had dared to hope for. He had complete confidence in his own abilities, but for Mercer and Mercedes the small chance of failure might have been too much. Luckily, they shared his point of view. And, on the off chance he did perish in the Games, they wouldn't have to feed as many mouths.

Axel walked out of the door. Like most people in district Six, his family lived in one of the main abandoned factories, shut down after the Capitol's health and safety regulations deemed them unsafe. As if they cared about who got squashed by a falling chunk of the roof. He had heard there used to be a housing law for all Districts – each family was allocated their own house – but in District Six, there just wasn't enough space, so they had to make do with what buildings they already had. This building had been a residential site for about twenty years, and a factory for thirty years before that.

Axel knew that he was fortunate; this building was built with old steel, and although the timbers had long since rotted away, the frame remained, meaning that the walls were easy to replace and the architecture wouldn't come crumbling down at any second, like one had a few weeks ago down the road. Everyone living there now had at least three broken bones, and a quarter of them were dropping like flies because of the infection that came with the wounds. As he passed the families living in the same building as him, he noticed at least half had taken in one of the injured. He looked on at them with pity. Even though the conditions were way less than satisfactory, he knew he was lucky.

Axel stopped outside a room on the fourth floor, covered from view by a grubby white sheet hung from the steel beams that filled the factory. He had heard they used to use them by attaching great claws to them that moved around the building carrying construction parts. Now they just used people. He knocked on the wooden beam to the side of the white sheet.

"Lexus! You decent in there or do I get to barge in on a show?"

The sheet was suddenly flung aside, a girl with dirty blond hair and a piano-key grin emerging from behind.

"You wish, Axel," she said. She was wearing holey jeans and a leather jacket she had scavenged from the rubbish pile outside the building. It was in pretty good condition; there were a few large rips down the back (that looked suspiciously like claw marks. . .) and half a sleeve was missing, but, as Lexus had said, "Shredded is the new black". It sure put Axel's tee-shirts to shame; every one was coated with engine grease and had so many holes they were mistaken for polka-dots.

Lexus tied her wild hair up with a rubber band as they walked down to the street. This was pretty much their morning routine, on any day when they weren't working; go down to the shopkeepers' street and go through the rubbish tips, looking for fabric, china, plastic, rotten food – anything they could use.

Panem treated them like vermin, but decades of manufacturing and fixing trains, cars and the occasional motorcycle had given District Six a practical disposition. They could find use for almost anything, and that was fortunate since they didn't have a wide range of useful things at their fingertips. Today, there were about twenty kids and teens, the youngest around seven and the oldest in their early twenties. A small group of boys, about eight years old, saw Axel and Lexus as they approached and ran towards them, grinning. One, with dark hair, skin and eyes, shouted out and ran at Axel, giggling.

"Hi, Jay, nice to see you too." laughed Axel. Jay promptly jumped on Axel and clung to him, which would have caused serious injury to Axel if Jay hadn't been half his size.

"Hey there Junior." said Lexus, chuckling. The nickname was obvious – Jay's dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes made him look like a decade-younger version of Axel.

"Hi Axel, hi Lexus." Jay greeted, detaching himself from Axel.

"You found anything good yet?" asked Lexus.

Jay grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically. "We found this motorbike near one of the outer warehouses . . . seems like one of those old Harley's-,"

Axel was already leaning down to inspect the motorbike, taking out a work belt full of small spanners and screwdrivers. He ran his hands over the battered plate on the outside of the motorbike. The plates covering the wiring and internal structure were slightly dented and grimy, the edges spattered with rust. However, it was still in relatively good shape –on the outside at least.

"Alright, let's take a peek." Axel rubbed his hands together, ready to pry off the plates hiding the rest of the bike.

With some effort, the plates gave way and revealed the welded engine and wires underneath.

Jay and his friends "Oooohhhhed" and Lexus's eyes almost popped. The engine below was dusty and blobs of grease stuck to some of the parts; but not a single component was missing. Axel brushed away some of the dust – it was barely even rusted. He stood back. One of Jay's friends tugged at a small metal bar that was protruding from underneath the engine – the pedal had broken off and was probably lying somewhere in the pile of metal – and the bike started up perfectly, the sound of the engine reverberating around the alley.

It was like music; District Six spent so long trying to perfect car and bike components to actually _work,_ and here was a prime specimen.

"Wow," breathed Axel.

Some of Jay's friends were giggling quietly. Lexus turned to look at them, one eyebrow raised. One boy turned to face Lexus, an expression of mock-pleading on his face.

"Can we keep him? Pleeeeease?" he said. The boys exploded into peals of laughter. Lexus snorted.

"Sure, you can have it," said Axel, turning back to face Lexus and the boys. Jay stepped forward.

"Dude, you can have some of this stuff, we couldn't get the plate off." He gestured to the wheels. "This suspension is pretty good. Or you could take a tyre."

Axel opened his mouth, as if to explain something, when the loud sound of a bird cry zoomed down the alleyway.

Axel's muscles tensed. One of Jay's gang was always positioned on a rooftop as a lookout. Peacekeepers rarely patrolled the alleys of District Six, but no one was willing to take the chance that they wouldn't. Fines and whippings didn't exist in District Six (and many of the other Districts where factories existed), as the Capitol would just cut their pay or even ensure that they lost their job. The punishment for 'stealing' was at least three months redundancy, which no one could afford. And although Axel didn't care if he lost his job at this point, he needed to talk to Jay and Lexus alone – badly. So he turned and ran as if for his life.

The bird cry as a warning had been used for generations; it was practically instinct to the kids. Everyone in the alley turned and fled. This drill came up every few weeks, and everyone had a safe place they prepared for this event. Half of Jay's gang jumped inside a window halfway down the street; the other half scampered up a thin rope ladder the look-out had thrown down. Jay and three other boys followed Lexus and Axel, who just ran full-pelt down the street.

When Axel turned left at the end of the alley he almost crashed into a man in a black trench coat, followed by a tall, skinny girl with dark hair. She frowned.

"Watch it, punk," she said quietly. Axel barely her a second glance.

"Crap," said Lexus, panting. She turned to Axel. "We need to go to the reapings. Jay, we'll meet you afterwards at safe house three. Get the bike there."

"No!" said Axel. He ducked between two shops and the others followed.

"Oh, so you have a better plan?" asked Lexus sarcastically.

Twenty minutes later, Lexus stood in her assigned area at the Reaping. She felt like she was going to puke, which was a bad idea all round. A thirteen year old had done that a couple of years ago when she got picked. It didn't go down well. So Lexus tried to stand contently, despite the feeling of dread deep in her stomach. It wasn't for fear of herself being reaped, although that might be preferable to what would actually happen. She was not brave enough to volunteer, anyway. Her father had always said bravery was just a kind word for stupidity.

Axel was definitely the stupidest person she had ever met.

The escort for District Six always tried to "fit in". She wore a strange dress made of chain mail, the skirt a ring of large silver pyramids reaching halfway down her calves, with a matching hair accessory. She just seemed to make everything in District Six more grimy and rusty. The Capitol was effectively making them feel worthless, like everything else they did to them. A woman in District Six would have to work for years to manufacture something so pointlessly aesthetic and here was someone who got a new one made for her every Games. Lexus spent her Reapings wondering how many wheels could be made out of the escort's dress.

Today, her bet was on twenty-six.

The escort waltzed over to the reaping bowl. Even her tremendously high heels had silver spikes all over. Axel used to joke that she should have a warning sign flashing above her head. She dipped her hand into the reaping bowl filled with the paper slips of doom. Before unfolding and reading out the name of the unfortunate written on the small paper slip, she closed her eyes and smiled. Lexus was sure she was thinking of the duty she was performing to Panem. It was a shame she was too far away to see the fear reflected in the eyes of the thousands of children.

"Smitha Robynson!" said the escort in a clear voice that rang out through the square, reverberating back against the walls of the Justice Building and the other tall apartment blocks.

Smitha, a girl who Lexus recognized from school, was weeping quietly. Some of her friends went over to comfort her.

"I volunteer."

The voice was not particularly loud, but it was said in such a way that every word was understood. Then, surprise, surprise, Lianne Chrome stepped out from the back of the crowd. Lexus's eyes narrowed. She recognized the face well. Lianne was the last of Hound's feared and respected "pupils". Hound, the detested bounty hunter, had kidnapped children years ago, and trained them their whole lives for the sole purpose of winning the Games. They had started with around twenty kids, ranging in age from 1-5 years when they were taken. Lianne was the only one left. No one asked what had happened to the others.

Lianne looked intimidating as ever in her burgundy dress, the trademark expressionless look in her cold dark eyes, any visible skin riddled with scars small or big. Lexus could tell that District Six's odds of victory had just skyrocketed. No one was close enough to Lianne to call her a friend, but Lexus felt genuine affection for her.

She could almost taste the food packages delivered to the square after the victory. . .

"Macron Washer!" said the escort.

Lexus squeezed her eyes shut. But nothing could stop her hearing the words, so familiar but unwelcome for the first time…

"I volunteer," said Axel loudly.

Lexus looked across the square at Axel. They were the closest of friends. They had known each other since they were both three years old. They had done everything together. But now Lianne was standing up on the stage. Lexus looked into his eyes.

_Love you, Axel. _she mouthed.

Axel, the ever optimistic, gave her a warm smile in return and started to climb the steps up onto the stage.

**Planning to publish this at the same time as D7, which I am writing right now :) **

_**Two Volunteers from an outlying District, this will be interesting. Especially since they're both so different from each other~**_


	9. District 7 Reaping

**Oh, the joys of writing chaotic family lives. Read on. . .**

_***Sigh* Only 2 Reviews from the previous chapter. . .That's depressing T^T Onwards~~~**_

"Linden! Mum says we're leaving in five minutes! Linden!"

Linden couldn't hear him. Sitting on a tree branch by the house's upstairs window (Linden's family were one of the few people in District 7 to have a multi-storey house), he was absorbed in his book. He had found it in the back of the library: _Thoughts of the Forest. _

It was once called poetry; now, Panem decreed it a waste of time.

Linden had discovered poetry a couple of years ago. The way the words were arranged, in such perfect measures of clarity or abstractness, ran up and down the pages in a dance of ink on paper. He particularly liked this volume, lamenting on the beauty of flora and fauna. It was strange how much more appreciation District Seven had of forest and trees when they were the ones to cut them down. A crinkly oak leaf drifted down and landed on the open page. Linden crushed it to dust in his fingers, listening to the sound it made. The leaves themselves were powerless, but the oak tree had stood for decades – his parent's parents hadn't known a time when it was a sapling.

Leaves were just like the districts. The pawns of Panem.

"Lindeeen!" This time the words were more prominent – Linden recognized his younger brother Poplar's voice, one of the mischievous red-haired twins. He sighed.

Climbing back up into the second-storey window, Linden descended back into the chaos which was the Woodloft life. The Woodloft family had seven boys: Maple, Linden, Ash, Rowan, Hemlock, Pine and Poplar. Maple was old enough to forgo the Reapings, and Hemlock and the twins hadn't had their first yet, but Linden, Ash and Rowan were fair game. And getting the whole family out of the door on time. . .

"Linden, dear, put something respectable on at once!" That was Linden's mother. She walked down the hallway, chucking clothes at each of the boys. She thrust a pale blue shirt and brown dress pants at Linden before he could object.

"And tie that hair up, for goodness' sake! _Why_ you can't have a sensible haircut like Maple, I just don't understand…"

Linden fingered his messy brown hair defensively. So what if it came down to his shoulders? His mother had a mane of red hair, which _she _never tied up, and as for Maple, Linden shuddered at the thought of being like his sensible and responsible brother. He ducked into his cupboard-like room.

Pine was bouncing on his bed.

"Pine, have you seen a hairband anywhere?" asked Linden, ignoring the fact that Pine was on the verge of chucking his bedsheets out of the window.

"Hemlock had them. He said he was going to burn them," said Pine innocently. Linden wrestled Pine off his bed.

"Why would he do that?" asked Linden.

"Because Poplar styled his hair like a girl while he was asleep." answered Pine.

"Thanks, Pine," said Linden, shoving his little brother out of the door and closing it with his foot whilst buttoning up his blue shirt. It smelled weirdly clean and had tears on one of the sleeves. Linden was only the second-born but he still got hand-me-downs. No one got new clothes in the Woodloft house. He put one sock on, but then the cackles of eleven-year-old Hemlock drifted up from the backyard, and Linden had to run back down into the garden and stop his brother burning up all the hairbands in the house.

"Lindeeen," he whined. "Why do you always have to ruin everything?"

"I'm not the pyromaniac in this family," he answered, snatching the matches off his brother.

"Boys, we're leaving in two minutes! Get ready!" The voice of Linden's father resonated throughout the house.

Linden ran through into the kitchen, tying his hair back in a messy ponytail. Maple was slicing up a loaf of grainy bread. He handed a piece to Linden.

"Reaping day, huh?" said his older brother.

"Two more to go." Linden answered grimly.

Poplar trudged into the kitchen, whining.

"Why do we always have to have brown bread? White bread is way more yummier." he said, sticking his bottom lip out.

"Because every time we do, you mash up bugs to put in it and pretend its brown bread." answered Rowan, who was sitting at the table, his back hunched over.

"Oh, yeah," said Poplar. "Can I have some bread, Maple?"

Linden's father entered. "We're leaving now, boys. So hurry up unless you want to walk by yourself."

Linden wanted to go back upstairs and get his book, but everyone else was walking towards the door, and Maple gave him a stern look.

"Come on, Linden," he said.

Linden sighed. "Not a moment of peace and quiet."

Rowan laughed. "I thought you liked it that way!"

Linden smiled and walked out of the door into the grey street.

* * *

Camryn's day began with laughter.

Even though her fear of Reaping Day was immense, she swallowed it and occupied her thoughts by playing with Danny. Camryn's younger cousin was only three, and she loved him more than anyone else. His bright blond hair framed his pale face like a halo and his blue green eyes always sparkled when he laughed. Camryn often wished she looked more like him, instead of inheriting her father's dark brown hair and freckly skin. Today, since no one was at work, and the Reaping didn't start until eleven, she had decided to take Danny down to the eastern border of the district, where a clump of birch trees almost served as a park. The trees were small and thin - useless for timber, so they just stood around a small pond where frogs and ducks lived.

Camryn sat next to the pond, staring into the reflections of blue sky and white birch branches when Danny came running up to her.

"Cami, look! I got a froggy!" Danny burst out of the reeds, running awkwardly in that toddler-like way. His plump arm was outstretched, and a small splodge of dark green was visible in his pudgy fist. Camryn peered at the frog. Its black eyes were bulging in a comical fashion from Danny's tight grip, and it looked as if it was about to explode. Camryn laughed.

"He's massive!" Camryn exclaimed. Danny grinned with pride. Camryn stroked the frog's damp, sticky head with one finger. "Do you want to go put him back now?"

Danny waddled back into the reeds. Camryn heard him whisper: "Go home, froggy," as he unclenched his fist, and the frog hopped back to freedom. Danny continued stomping through the reeds, looking for more strange beasts.

Camryn Parrish never had an older sister to look after her. She had grown up not knowing her mother, an only child with a loving father and not enough food on the table. Camryn was only seven at the time but she could remember asking her father why they never had enough to eat.

"The Capitol won't pay me enough money for food, Cami." was always her father's reply. Kenny Parrish would often sit for ages in their small, rickety house. Camryn knew he was planning something big – his eyes were always squinted and beady, and towards the end he whispered in his sleep.

One sunshine-y day, Kenny shook eight-year-old Camryn awake.

"_Daddy, where are we going?"_ she had asked. He had backpacks in his hand, stuffed to bursting point. He slung one over his shoulder and threw the other to Camryn.

"_We're leaving, Cami."_ he said, his voice tense with nervousness and excitement. Camryn could tell from his grinning face that where ever they were going, it would be a good place. An amazing adventure. Camryn giggled and pulled a threadbare jumper on. When she stepped outside, she saw the sun had not risen. A faint pink glow was visible one side of the sky. She clutched her father's hand as he ran towards the district fence. And then they were free, running across the wilderness. Kenny laughed as Camryn danced across the forest floor.

Camryn tried to close her eyes, tried to stop the memories. But they erupted forth like a chain of explosions, and, in her mind, a single, point-blank gunshot echoed across the surface of the pond. Peacekeepers. Such a misnomer. They were the real cause of all rebellious thought, thoughts which turned to actions, actions which were always silenced with gunshots and whips.

A cycle of pain.

"Look! I found a tadpole! Cami look!"

* * *

The reaping was silent, except for the rustle of flame-coloured autumn leaves, flying along the empty streets. Hundreds of children stood, staring up into the face of the Capitol escort, silently defying her with stares. The look on Daedala Frisk's scaly face was slightly unsettled, as if someone had just walked over her grave, which gave Linden a strange sense of cruel satisfaction.

He was standing with the rest of the crowd. Linden stood a little taller than most of the other sixteen-year-old boys, his tall and stringy frame making him stand out of the crowd. He didn't like it. At the reapings, it was better to be as inconspicuous as possible.

As per routine, Daedala strode over to the reaping bowls. Her gait was different to the other escorts seen on TV; instead of the expected bouncy high-heeled stride, Daedala walked afraid and hurried, like the teens would pull out weapons at any minute. A hint of a smile played on Lindens lips. She lowered her hand into the reaping bowl, never taking her eyes off the crowd. Her long-lashed eyes flickered around the crowd for a moment, then fixed onto the paper slip in front of her. She blinked nervously.

"Camryn Parrish!"

Heads turned towards the fifteen-year-old girls section. A small circle formed around the condemned child.

Linden could see her: a short, skinny girl with dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her face displayed an expression of pure shock. She squeezed her eyes shut, then managed to assemble her face in an expression of confidence, and walked up to the stage.

Daedala examined her. No friends had come to scream in protest, so she decided this wouldn't provoke more stares from the crowd. She was very wrong, and flinched as she turned back to face the district population. Linden almost chuckled. How great it must be, to live somewhere so safe that defiant stares were the absolute pinnacle of torture.

Sobs echoed across the square. Linden turned to see a small woman holding a bawling toddler in her arms. She stroked his hair and whispered to him, trying to calm him down. But screams of "Cami no leave!" ricocheted against the walls of the Justice building.

Daedala looked mildly annoyed. Linden imagined her train of thought: _Oh, stop crying, annoying child. She's only going to be killed in the Games. It's not as if she's going to a formal party wearing a top and trousers!_

* * *

Camryn was barely coping.

The confidence she was showing was beginning to crack at the edges. Seeing Danny cry for her was making her break. Her eyes were watery. She blinked again to hold back a monsoon of tears. Instead, she watched the escort stride over to the boys' reaping bowl.

This escort scared her. She was dressed in a long orange dress, elegant and flowing, but her skin was criss-crossed with stripes of scales. One stripe ran across one eye, and that eye was inlaid with white gems, scary yet glamorous. The escort once more lowered her hand into the reaping bowl, and pulled out a slip of paper with her green talons. Camryn listened eagerly. Maybe someone strong could get reaped, and she would be able to make it back with his help. The escort smoothed it out, and-

"Linden Woodloft!"

Ripples spread through the crowd, many more this time as they seemed to originate from several points in the boys' section. A tall boy with long, light brown hair walked up to the stage. Camryn saw he didn't have any shoes on, just one holey sock.

The escort was snickering. The mayor, an elderly woman, stepped forward and told them to shake hands. She smiled at them sympathetically, which Camryn returned half-heartedly. She took Linden's hand. He shook it firmly, but didn't look her in the eyes. His thoughts were somewhere else, and his eyes followed a single autumn leaf drifting down a faraway street on a current of swirling wind.

So free. . . But they had metaphorically slapped chains on Camryn and Linden. Camryn wondered if she would ever see this district again. As much as she had wanted to escape, the rustle of trees and dull streets were home.

And a lot safer than where she was headed.

* * *

The room in the Justice Building could barely contain the entire Woodloft family. Emotion was leaking out of the windows and under the door. Linden's family had been allocated the lounge of the Justice Building. Cabinets filled with age-old tomes and dusty china ornaments leaned against the walls. Linden thought it smelled weird. Like stale perfume and old people.

His enormous family was piled on one of the couches, Linden squashed in the middle with them. They all just sat there crying for a while. Then Maple stood up.

"Uhm, the guys and I would like you to have this," he said, handing a roughly carved circlet to Linden. It unsettled him to see his older brother, usually so smooth when speaking, tripping over his own sobs.

Linden examined the crown. He knew what it was instantly.

For as long as he could remember, the back garden had been the best place for a troupe of young boys to play. They made noble stallions out of broomsticks and swords out of spindly twigs. His father had laughed at this, but came back from work one day with this crown. "For the rightful King of the garden," he had said in a booming voice. The next day, they had held a coronation for King Maple, using tea towels as cloaks. The other boys swore allegiance to Greenwell, the name of the make-believe kingdom, and were named knights of the realm. Linden found fresh tears in his eyes. This token was perfect. He wasn't sure if he had fully realised how lucky he was to have such a good family before. Linden tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat.

His father came up to him. His voice was shaking, but he squeezed the tears out of his eyes.

"Linden, you can do this," he began, "train hard with survival skills, get away from the Cornucopia, and find some food. I know you can do this."

Linden's father broke off in sobs. He couldn't lose another family member; first his brother, now his son. Linden could see it in his eyes, the death of his uncle again. The Woodlofts were so rebellious. Peacekeepers always pointed them out as bad examples, rotten eggs. But the Capitol were always the ones to strike first.

* * *

Camryn lay on the couch, shaking. Sometime soon she would just wake up, and it would be all over. One person's life couldn't have that many tragedies in it. Couldn't it? Could it?

Her aunt Margaret and Danny came in. They didn't say anything, just sat there, crying. Danny kept mumbling "Cami no leave," but his sobs were quieter and quieter. Her aunt cradled them both in her arms, stroking Danny and Camryn's hair.

When the Peacekeepers came in to take Margaret and Danny away, Danny started up again. He screamed and kicked against his mother, who was desperately trying to calm him, hears running down her own cheeks. The last part before Danny left was him staring into Camryn's eyes, reaching out a hand, and mumbling tiredly: "Cami no leave." Camryn tried to imprint the moment on her memory forever, but it slipped away before she could catch it.

Evelyn Hayes entered. She was a tall and extremely skinny girl with straight blond hair. Camryn didn't really consider her a friend, since she was super-annoying, but today Evelyn's face was grave. She sat on the couch with her hands in her lap, not really knowing what to say. Camryn smiled.

"So, I heard the Capitol is a pretty nice place," she began. Evelyn looked at her strangely.

"Some people would even die to go there," said Camryn. Evelyn snorted. Camryn knew it was a lame joke, but comedy wasn't her number one priority now.

"Do you have a token?" asked Evelyn. Camryn held up a small leather circle. It was simply plaited, and worn at the edges.

"It's pretty," said Evelyn.

"My dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday," she said, and promptly burst into tears.

Evelyn awkwardly tried to put her arms around Camryn. She made soft shushing noises. Camryn continued this way for about ten minutes until the Peacekeepers came again. Evelyn was hesitant to go, but Camryn pushed her aside and smiled bravely.

"Go, I'll be fine."

Evelyn stood up, smiling.

"No you won't."

Camryn laughed.

And then she was alone.

**Expect fast updates, I'm trying to get through the pre-training chapters really fast since I have all the tributes (Well, almost)**

_**Please don't forget to review~! *Wink wink, nudge nudge* ;D**_


	10. District 8 Reaping

**Presenting District VIII, brought to you by LemonRaven Incorporated.**

_**^What she said ^-^ Enjoy~~~**_

Leafia-Ann Sisk wasn't loud and quirky on Reaping Day.

Even though those qualities were her most prominent – along with 'weird', 'hyper', 'chatterbox' – today she was surrounded. The tall walls of buildings surrounding the street (District Eight was too crammed full of factories to have a square) and the thousands of other kids surrounding her like some giant line-up made her voice shrivel up and hide.

Her already small, skinny frame made her even shyer. She couldn't even stand with Tate, her only friend. He would make her feel better. They would be giggling together at the escort's new dress, which today was a beige number that seemed to be made of moth's wings, although it bore an extraordinary resemblance to bird excrement.

Leafia-Ann snorted.

As the escort trotted across the stage, Leafy's heart started beating. She didn't know why. It freaked her out a little, but she told herself it was just normal Reaping nerves. This was only her second, but her first didn't really count since she had a flu and practically sleepwalked through the whole event. The escort's high-pitched voice twittered quickly along like a bird, scratching through Leafia-Ann's inner ear, although the meaning was lost to her. She dipped her long, cream-painted fingernails into the glass bowl. Leafia-Ann was in the middle of starting to fell sorry for the poor kid that was about to be picked, when-

"Leafia-Ann Sisk!"

The name rang out through the street, silencing all other thoughts. Then, all heads slowly turned towards Leafy.

Leafia-Ann's heart rate sky-rocketed.

Her name.

Her name.

The escort had called her name.

How? Her name was only in their two times! Two _tiny_ slips of paper, right at the bottom of the reaping bowl. Her head spun around and around. She couldn't go to the Capitol, she wasn't important, she wasn't insignificant enough to be reaped. She had a life! Here! Her name. Her name. Leafia-Ann's thoughts swirled around her head like a chaotic hurricane.

Then time started again.

The escort called her name, louder and more insistently with a frown on her face. Whispers, giggles, gasps and the odd shriek ran through the crowd around her, like a school of fish surrounding Leafia-Ann. She glimpsed the with uniforms of Peacekeepers pushing through the crowd, coming to grab her and deliver her to her death. She heard the scream of her best friend, Tate, just before she felt the blood run out of her cheeks, and then the world fell into darkness.

"…."

The escort, Nymph, let out a faint "Oh!" as she saw the tiny girl crumpling down onto the asphalt. Two Peacekeepers took her by her limp, stick-like arms and half-carried, half-dragged her up to the stage. Nymph pulled a chair from the back of the stage, and they dumped Leafia-Ann into its wooden frame.

"Uhmm.." Nymph seemed uncertain for a moment. She wasn't used to having an unconscious tribute to introduce, but the show must go on. So she put on a fake smile that made the teens in the square avert their eyes, and walked over to the next reaping bowl.

* * *

Micah Raybin looked like death itself.

He was tall, pale and skinny from lack of exercise. His hair was stringy and black, covering his ears. His gaze was like pure hate channeled through eyes that were the shade of charcoal and had bags under them from sleepless nights. Worst of all were the scars – one long, faded number going across his jawbone and countless across his wrist and lower arms.

No wonder people avoided him.

Every day was the same to him. The same struggle through the hell of Panem. He had tried numerous ways just to escape it. Slitting his wrist, attempts at hanging himself, trying to jump off the roofs of factories. His father, the reason he would leave this world, always called Peacekeepers to "save" him. Josepher Raybin, the man who had strangled his own wife while his three-year-old son watched, the man who tore apart all hope of a future for Micah, the man who spent his days drunk and in debt, seemed to think Micah shouldn't escape this hellhole.

Micah scowled as he remembered his father's lectures on how he had "a choice" and he "had people who loved him". Well, sorry Dad, but he had made his choice. And did Josepher Raybin love his son when he came home in a drunken rage, woke up in the morning with splitting headaches and decided to take it out on his kids, forced him to steal from others who were just as unfortunate to stem the torrent of debt?

He felt a small tug on his sleeve. Llili was his little sister, only twelve years old.

The thought of her would make his internal furnace of anger burn brighter than anything else. At the time of Annalizaline's -their mother's- death, she had only been a year old. Now, her skin was pale as snow, and her petal-blue eyes blinked in the sunlight, which she was unfamiliar to. Josepher had locked her in the attic of their run-down house for eleven years. She had never gone to school, never had a loving parent, never seen the light of day, except for small beams of golden sunlight slipping through cracks in the roof. She couldn't even speak properly, even though Micah had tried to teach her language. She was shy beyond belief, having only glimpsed other people through cracks in her attic prison. Everyone else stared at this strange child who had somehow sprung from nowhere. Llili clung close to Micah, burying her face in his side.

He walked along the street, briefly stopping to sign in. The peacekeeper at the desk seemed mildly annoyed when Llili was hesitant to mumble her name. Her voice sounded strange as it wrapped around the vowels. Her difficulty was obvious. Micah glared at the Peacekeeper.

'_Why do you enforce this? You don't even care about anyone. Only your pay,'_ he thought. The peacekeeper pointed towards the girls' section, but Llili clung to Micah, terrified.

"Go," he said, raising his voice. "Move it." Llili didn't move a muscle. Micah studied the peacekeeper's face. The peacekeeper stood, pulling out a small handgun.

"Move! Now!" he yelled. Llili didn't even know what the gun did, but cowered at the man's voice.

"She comes with me," said Micah quietly.

The peacekeeper laughed. "Oh joy, I got a funny one on my shift. You move it too, clown." Micah promptly punched him in the face.

It was pretty weak, but it startled him. Other peacekeepers stood, unsure of what to do. The handgun fell from the peacekeeper's hand, and landed next to Micah. He kicked it, and it disappeared somewhere in the boys' section.

"She comes with me," Micah repeated. The peacekeeper wiped spittle off his cheek.

"Whatever. But I'm taking out some tesserae in your name, clown," said the peacekeeper. "Move it. Go to hell."

So Micah shuffled into the crowd, with Llili still clinging to his sleeve. He paid no notice to the angry peacekeeper's threat.

He didn't understand why people were afraid of being damned to Hell.

They were already living in it.

* * *

The world spun back into focus. Ugh. Her head felt so heavy. She moved it slightly, and her dark hair made noise against the sofa she was sat on. She held onto the sound like a lifeline, and rode it back to consciousness. Leafia-Ann opened her eyes.

"Ugggghhhhh, I feel like moldy cat vomit," she said, sitting up. She heard laughter, and turned towards it. She saw a tall boy, slightly older than her, with light hair and skin. Tate Race. His face looked relieved, but his eyes were red.

"What?" she asked. "It's a perfectly valid description of me right now!"

Which made Tate laugh even more.

"Why did I want you to wake up," sighed Tate, still smiling. "You just make even more noise."

They giggled for a while. Then Leafia-Ann remembered where she was. The room went quiet.

"Are my family going to come?" asked Leafy tentatively. Tate frowned.

"They already did, but you were asleep," he said, shrugging. Leafia-Ann sighed and hugged Tate with her bony arms. Tears found her pretty quickly, as the thoughts of her family swirled around her head. Her mother, often stern and unfair towards Leafy, rarely smiling. Her father, goofy and laughing. Her sister, whom she had experienced countless quarrels with. Was she never to see them again? All the times she had wished for a different family came to her head, and she sobbed with guilt. She would give anything for her family now.

"I'm going to die," said Leafia-Ann Sisk after a long silence. Tate opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again.

"At least try," said Tate. Leafia-Ann laughed, but it came out cruel and sarcastic.

"What do you think I'm going to do in the arena?" She turned towards Tate, eyes angry and hopeless. "I can't lift a sword, I can't recognize plants, I can't tie a decent knot, and God only knows how I'm going to escape the Bloodbath."

Tate looked at her, studying her uncharacteristic aggressiveness.

"Try," he said simply. Leafy slumped defeated on the sofa. Tate rolled his eyes and swore. "I know you've never spent a day of your life _near_ the wilderness-" Leafy opened her mouth to protest but realized he was right "-but you can go down fighting. Don't let these Games change you into someone else, Leafy." He looked her in the eyes. "Go down smiling. Because all this sadness doesn't suit you."

Leafia-Ann considered his words for a moment. Her lips seemed to be thinking of curving into a smile.

Peacekeeper steps sounded down the hallway. Panic took her again.

"Can I have a token?" she said quickly. Tate almost missed her words.

"Um, Traysee left this-"

"Can I have your bracelet?" asked Leafia-Ann. She eyed the strip of blue threads around his left wrist. Tate looked at her hesitantly.

"Dude, I've had this since-"

"Give it, Tate! Or I'll die and bring all the other tribute ghosts to haunt you."

Tate swore. "Whatever," he said, forcing the braided strip off his wrist. Leafy grabbed it and then grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Thanks, Tate. I'll always remember ya," she smiled.

"Me too, Leafy," he said, as the peacekeepers came to take her away. "Me too."

* * *

Micah was shuttled into the goodbyes room just in time. He punched the peacekeeper who had argued with him earlier on the shoulder.

"Don't let Josephor in," he said. The peacekeeper grunted. Micah guessed he'd felt guilty about pulling a gun on this year's volunteer.

He slumped on the couch. Llili entered, curling up on the sofa next to him like a cat. She wasn't crying, but she didn't understand why it was a sad day. Micah decided not to tell her. Ignorance was bliss, and knowledge of what Panem really was could do terrible things to a person.

He pondered his decision. No sudden reconsidering factors popped into his head. It was the right choice. If he won, he would live in the Victor's Village, and have enough money to buy Llili a proper life. If not, he escaped Panem.

Freedom was his, it was a win-win situation.

He tried to plan the weeks ahead. He loathed the Capitolites in their stupid bright coloured outfits and wigs and shoes and jewellery. Bright colours did a crappy job of describing life in Panem. That was why he dyed his hair the colour of night and nothingness. Now he fitted in perfectly.

He thought about his district partner. Leanna, he thought her name was. She didn't seem like a good ally.

He thought about the arena. He would try to fight in the Bloodbath, try picking off some of the bigger competitors before moving off on his own, trying to track down those who slipped through the Career's net. The thought that he had never even lifted a weapon before didn't cross his mind. He could learn, right? It wasn't like he had any other stuff to worry about. Not anymore.

Time passed quickly, and soon he was back in the corridor. He waved Llili goodbye, and caught a glimpse of his father, waiting outside. His glare made him want to escape the district more than ever now. So he punched the peacekeeper on the shoulder again.

"So, where's my ride?" asked Micah.

**Whew! I'm really sorry for the two-week gap where I wrote pretty much nothing but seriously guys, I finished this in about two days. This is how committed I am to getting back on track :D**

**Next chapter should follow quickly (I mean it this time, ok!)**

**Happy reading! –Lemonquill**

**P.S. If you can, PLEASE drop a review, since I feel like I should be getting more :( I'm not trying to be greedy, I just need more feedback on my writing! The whole point of reviews is to provide feedback, so A) if you review my writing gets better, B) if you review I get motivated to write FASTER. Thanks!**

_**C) if you don't review she and I will explode :( **_

_**P.S Did I mention reviewers have a higher chance of their tribute surviving? No? Oh well. . .**_


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